The Ruined City Page 33

  So they had proved themselves capable of working together, which augured well. Innesq Belandor had displayed a quiet contentment that was in no way affected by the Taerleezi boor Pridisso’s attempt to claim the lion’s share of credit for himself.

  “When?” whispered Nissi, quite clearly.

  Yvenza took note.

  “Will they speak?” A profound, almost convulsive shudder rocked Nissi’s slight frame. She gasped and recovered herself. Her eyes flew to Innesq Belandor, who slept on unaware. She then turned to find Yvenza studying her minutely.

  “Tell me,” Yvenza commanded.

  “They … are coming. Soon.”

  “Who or what comes?”

  “They are of It.”

  “It? The Overmind thing that Innesq speaks of, you mean?”

  “They will be … seen. They are a … face of It, neither flesh nor spirit. They grow stronger. And They will be seen.”

  “Somebody or something is about to attack us? Is that what you’re saying? Are they armed? Are they arcane? How do we kill them?”

  “They are coming. Soon.”

  The day advanced, and in the late afternoon the shifting stretch of hospitable roadway brought the carriages and wagons to an inky tarn girdled with trees, occupying a natural depression among the surrounding hills. There they halted and set up camp for the night. The roadway under the wheels faded into nothingness, not to resume existence before morning.

  It soon became apparent that the site was a treasure trove. The water that appeared so ominously dark was in fact clean and pure. Better yet, the place offered a rich supply of fresh food.

  Dusk, and one of the Taerleezi servants drawing water at the tarn spied a small creature burrowing out of the muddy bank. He scooped it up and took a look. The animal resembled a newt, with a moist green-brown skin, stubby little legs, round yellow eyes, and a long, whiplash tail. It was far too small to make a meal, and he was on the point of tossing it aside when he noted a second newt emerging from the mud. And a third. Then more; dozens, scores, hundreds. Within moments, the bank teemed with newly hatched creatures scrambling for the water. Here was more than enough meat to feed the entire party.

  They were easy to catch. Scooping them up by the handful, he quickly filled his bucket. While doing so he loosed a distinctive, tremulous whistle that summoned several of his fellow servants, both Corvestri and Belandor. Spying the prize, they ran for buckets of their own. Soon the containers were loaded with wriggling green-brown cargo.

  That evening they collaborated on dinner, with Taerleezi and Faerlonnish cooks alike contributing ingredients to the communal pot. It was the first time in days that they were to enjoy fresh meat, and therefore something of an occasion. Ojem Pridisso’s servant produced an impressive assortment of vegetables, together with Taerleezi wine to add flavor to the broth. The Faerlonnish chefs brought forth herbs, spices, and dried petals worthy of an aristocratic Vitrisian table. As night fell, a magnificent aroma filled the camp.

  For the first time since the journey had begun, all of them were to dine together. There was no table or board large enough to accommodate the entire party, and thus they arranged their various collapsible stands and tray-tables, their jointed stools and folding camp chairs in a close circle about the central cookfire. For once the various households mingled. Even the nationalities mixed—something unprecedented.

  Taerleezi Littri Zovaccio was sitting among the Faerlonnish Belandors for the first time. Yvenza and her ward sat at Ojem Pridisso’s lavish table, with its new, very white linen cloth and its blindingly polished new silver candelabrum. Young Vinzille Corvestri was there as well, sitting beside Nissi. The Magnifico Vinz Corvestri and his wife sat alone together, served by their own attendants.

  The Magnifico Aureste did not wish to observe Corvestri and his lady. Better by far to focus on his own brother Innesq, whose expression communicated exceptional satisfaction. Understandably so. Matters were finally arranging themselves in accordance with the middle Belandor brother’s hopes. Aureste suppressed a smile. Innesq, that lifelong recluse, actually appeared to be enjoying himself. Even now, sitting there in the glow of the firelight and striving manfully to engage Littri Zovaccio in conversation, Innesq looked happy.

  “Does it not appear to you, Master Zovaccio, that a shared meal of this kind is a particularly agreeable occasion?” Innesq essayed.

  Littri Zovaccio inclined his head with a faint, mournful smile.

  “We chat, we exchange ideas, we come to know one another, do we not?”

  Littri Zovaccio nodded.

  “The food and wine, the warmth of the fire, the conviviality—these things lighten the tedium of a long journey.”

  Zovaccio considered, then nodded.

  At least they were not to be subjected to the aural scrape of the Taerleezi accent, Aureste reflected. He decided to help his brother.

  “I’ve heard it rumored that Taerleez now requires her citizens to secure official safe-conduct in order to enter Faerlonne. Is there any truth to this?”

  Zovaccio replied with a melancholy shrug.

  Dinner arrived, served by a Belandor attendant. Bowls of the collaborative stew were placed before Zovaccio, Aureste, and Innesq.

  Aureste swallowed a spoonful, and his brows rose in surprised appreciation. The stew was excellent, as finely flavored and subtly seasoned as anything he might expect to grace his table at home in Vitrisi. The vegetables were varied and perfectly cooked, each retaining a hint of a crunch, while the entire concoction was generously laced with shreds and small chunks of mild, tender white meat. It had been too long since he had tasted fresh meat of any description. He ate with pleasure, then looked up to gauge the reaction of his companions. Littri Zovaccio appeared as content as the lugubrious cast of his features allowed. Innesq, however, was not eating. He sat frowning down at his bowl.

  Aureste transmitted an inquiry with his eyes.

  “There is something here that troubles me,” observed Innesq.

  “You’ve always had a finicking appetite, but there’s no cause for complaint here. You can’t say it isn’t appetizing and well prepared.”

  “I cannot say so because I have not tasted.”

  “Grant me patience. You don’t like the way it looks?”

  “I do not. What is in this dish?”

  “I’m not certain. I think it’s frogs or some such thing that the lads caught by the gross. They were altogether delighted with themselves. Do you know what this is?” Aureste addressed the question to Zovaccio.

  Zovaccio shook his head.

  Aureste raised a finger, and a servant was instantly at his side.

  “What is the principal ingredient in this dish?” he inquired.

  “Newts, so please you, Magnifico. Leastways that’s what we think. Maybe salamanders. Some were saying four-legged water worms.”

  “Are there any left whole?” asked Innesq.

  “Plenty, Master Innesq. We’re keeping a bucket of ’em alive in water, so they’ll be good and fresh for breakfast.”

  “Bring me one, if you please.”

  The servant bowed and retired. Moments later he was back, small creature in hand. Innesq took the animal and examined it closely. His face changed.

  The alteration caught Aureste’s full attention. Never in all his life had he witnessed his brother’s serenity so violently transformed. Never had he beheld such a look of unalloyed dismay, even horror, upon Innesq’s face.

  “Do not eat,” Innesq commanded.

  Aureste and Zovaccio set down their spoons at once.

  “Poisonous?” Aureste demanded. One hand instinctively moved to press his belly. No fires burning there—yet.

  “Worse.” Bending from his wheeled chair, Innesq set the captive amphibian gently down on the ground, and watched it scuttle for the shadows. He straightened. “These creatures are the young of the Sishmindri. They have laid their eggs in this quiet spot.”

  “Oh?” Is that all? “But the meat—it�
��s not toxic?”

  “I believe not. But what of that? Surely you would not knowingly consume the flesh of their children?”

  “Well. I must confess, I never considered it.” Frowning, Aureste regarded his dinner. He thought of the adult Sishmindris of Belandor House, with their inscrutable golden eyes, their expressionless faces, their coincidental outward resemblance to humankind, and a spontaneous revulsion bubbled inside him. He managed to rise above it. “The creatures are far too valuable to put to such use. I’d hardly venture to guess the worth of tonight’s stew pot—it’s an extravagant feast indeed. That being so, we must savor it to the fullest.”

  “You do not mean that. Aureste, Aureste, these are intelligent beings. Do you not understand?”

  “Many creatures upon which we feed possess a certain measure of intelligence, or instinct that doubles as intelligence. We devour them with pleasure, all the same. Mind you, I’m not in favor of employing Sishmindris as cattle—inasmuch as they refuse to breed in captivity, the concept is impractical. All I say here and now is that we possess a tasty pot of very costly stew, and it would be a great shame to let it go to waste. Come, reason favors me. You know this.”

  His brother cast a pained glance that Aureste hardly allowed himself to see. The thing was done. Innesq would have to reconcile himself.

  Innesq did nothing of the sort. For the first time in all his retiring life, he lifted his voice to address a gathering.

  “Friends, colleagues, fellow travelers, attend me if you will. We have unwittingly committed a grievous error.”

  His oratorical inexperience never revealed itself. His words winged strongly through the firelight.

  “We have slaughtered hundreds of young Sishmindris. There is no undoing this, and the deed must lie heavy upon every conscience. But we need not add to our offenses. Let us stop now. Release the captive hatchlings, let them seek the shelter of the tarn. As for those already slain—pour the pot out upon the ground, let the dead merge with the soil, as nature intended, and then let us ask forgiveness. We cannot truly make amends, but this is the least we can do.”

  His words reached the ears of all, and registered in the eyes of all. But the listeners’ reactions were difficult to judge. There was no immediate reply, and the fraught silence lengthened.

  Into that silence smashed a massive volley of rocks. They flew from the darkness beyond the fire, and they were well aimed. One of the Taerleezi chefs engaged in ladling out stew was struck squarely in the temple. He fell without a sound, bowl and ladle dropping from his hand. Cries arose as stones thudded into heads, limbs, and torsos. One of the Corvestri servants went down, face bloodied. A whizzing missile grazed Aureste’s shoulder, and he loosed a curse lost in a sudden great gust of noise. A huge cacophony of hoots, croaks, grunts, and hisses arose on all sides. The invisible attacker unmistakably surrounded them.

  For the moment no spoken command could be heard, but the Belandor bodyguards were well trained. Already they were grabbing for their crossbows and forming a circle, backs to the fire. The Pridisso and Zovaccio servants were there beside them. The Corvestri attendants, less efficient, were fumbling for their weapons. A rock struck one of them in the right arm, and the bow fell from a suddenly useless hand.

  Aureste’s eyes turned instinctively toward Sonnetia Corvestri. An attendant was hurrying her toward the shelter of the Corvestri carriage. She was being properly looked after. He turned to Innesq, who met his regard with an infinitesimal nod. The message was clear. His brother could and would employ arcane power in defense of the expedition. No doubt his fellow arcanists were similarly willing. But even among the most accomplished, results were far from instantaneous. They needed to fortify and prepare themselves. The mental exertion itself was often prolonged, and during this period they remained vulnerable. In the meantime, the rocks were flying.

  Drawing a short-bladed sword, Aureste planted himself solidly before Innesq.

  The croaks and hoots reached an impassioned crescendo. Out of the blackness beneath the trees erupted a mob of furious Sishmindris. They were broad and brawny, smooth of skin and flat of skull, with eyes of molten gold. They wore no garments of mankind, but did not disdain the weapons of men. Many bore slings, in whose use they had already demonstrated formidable proficiency. Others carried heavy clubs, sharpened wooden stakes, even chunks of stone chipped to an edge and bound to wooden handles.

  Never had the Magnifico Aureste beheld Sishmindris bearing arms, although he had heard rumors of such in Vitrisi. Even without the rumors, however, he would not have been entirely surprised. The cowardice and docility of the Sishmindri nature were widely regarded as axiomatic, but a portion of his mind had always harbored suspicion. Something in him had recognized amphibian treachery.

  Deceitful and duplicitous they might be, but still no match for men, and he would have expected little difficulty in defeating them, but for their numbers and their fury. There was no counting them. They were everywhere, on all sides, stabbing and smashing with their sticks and stones; crude weapons, but remarkably effective at close range. Only a few feet away, one of the Taerleezi servants fell beneath the onslaught and disappeared, instantly enveloped in a blur of flailing greenish limbs. To his left, one of his own men went down, pierced clear through with a sharpened wooden stake. Aureste found himself attacked by two of the creatures. He killed them both, and knew a moment’s incredulity, for nothing in his past could have prepared him for the necessity of soiling his sword with the blood of Sishmindris. No time now to ponder the indignity, for another was upon him, swinging mightily at his skull with a club the thickness of a small tree. There was no parrying such a blow, so he dodged with nearly the agility of earlier years, lunged, and drove his blade deep into amphibian vitals. The creature’s death cry was lost in the great surrounding din of croaking rage.

  Aureste chanced a quick glance behind him, where Innesq sat motionless in his wheeled chair, eyes open and unseeing, face empty and at peace. He had seen that look many times and knew its meaning. Innesq was elsewhere.

  A new note colored the uproar, a surge of excitement or triumph. His glance discovered the source. A hooting troop had taken possession of one of the supply wagons. Now they were emptying it, hurling sacks, barrels, and hampers off into the darkness, presumably into the arms of unseen confederates.

  A rock streaking in at an angle missed him by inches, but clanged loudly on the metal frame of Innesq’s chair. The rock was followed by a burly mottled female, stone ax uplifted, staccato cries bursting from her wide-open mouth. He halted her with a stroke that nearly severed her head from her body.

  Something pale slipped weightlessly along the edge of his vision, circling toward his brother. He spun, prepared to kill, and confronted the girl Nissi. She was kneeling beside Innesq, clutching one of his lax hands in both of her own. Her uncanny eyes were closed, her pallid little face calm and still. Only her lips moved soundlessly in the midst of the tumult. No threat there, quite the contrary. Their conjoined power was greater than the sum of its parts. And the other arcanists—were they similarly engaged? His eyes swept the firelit circle, but he caught no sight of the Corvestris or either of the Taerleezis. Something like doubt or misgiving shot through him. He realized then that arcane intervention was essential. Without it, the vastly outnumbered humans would be overwhelmed—by Sishmindris, of all things.

  A concerted assault took down another two of the ill-trained Corvestri guards. There was an obvious weak spot in the human line of defense, and the attackers bore down on it. He could marshal the guards if he could reach them, but a hissing enemy advance upon Innesq kept Aureste pinned. There were two, then four. They had clubs, and one of them wielded a steel blade presumably snatched from some dead man’s hand.

  A precise horizontal stroke sliced a Sishmindri throat, and a jet of alien blood sprayed Aureste’s face. As he wheeled to plunge his sword into the nearest greenish belly, a glancing blow clipped his ribs, and his lungs seemed to freeze. For an endless
moment he struggled to breathe. A sharpened stake drove at his midsection, and he shifted a slow, lead-weighted blade to parry the thrust. Another thrust, another parry, and still he could not catch his breath.

  If he died now, Innesq would follow in an instant, and then all the others. Sonnetia.

  It was going to happen. He could not defeat the amphibians. There were too many of them.

  The Belandor guard fighting beside him fell, skull crushed. Croaking Sishmindris converged on the fresh break in the human circle.

  He willed his lungs to expand and to fill with air. He willed his arm to greater speed and strength. For some seconds it worked, and twice more his sword thrust home. But renewal was brief, and he soon found his breath coming in gasps.

  It might have been misperception, a trick of rushing blood and heated exertions, but it seemed to him then that the air he gulped down into his lungs was exceptionally cold. The atmosphere throughout the journey had rasped with the raw chill of early springtime, but now it stabbed with winter’s malice. The sweat on his forehead was icy.

  It was not imagination. The air had chilled to freezing in seconds. Despite violent exercise, his teeth were starting to chatter. The fingers of his gloveless hands were losing sensation.

  The effect of the change upon the cold-blooded, unclothed Sishmindris was profound and immediate. Within seconds their energy flagged, their movements slowed, and they became delightfully easy to kill. Aureste dispatched several with gusto. His spirits, always resilient, had rebounded fully, and he enjoyed reinvigoration. When his latest adversary attempted to retreat, predatory instinct drove him forward a few paces in pursuit, and the air about him warmed and softened at once. Instantly he drew back to the frigid zone. No question, of course, what had happened. A bubble of freezing atmosphere—uncomfortable to warm-blooded humans, paralyzing to amphibians—had been created by arcane art. Innesq’s art, or else Innesq’s and Nissi’s. Or perhaps the others, wherever they were, had joined in. It wasn’t clear, and it didn’t matter. The Sishmindris had been thwarted.