“Do you speak again to your spirit?”
“No, to Jim Kirk. Nothing. Just dreaming.” Gene gave a huge yawn.
“You have no desire, husband?”
“Tired, I guess, more than I realized.”
Vaya got to her knees and straddled him.
“Then I will do all the work,” she said.
“Noblesse oblige, I always say.”
The attack came just before dawn.
Shouts roused Gene from fitful sleep. He bolted upright. A woman screamed somewhere near the edge of the campsite. Then another, closer.
Vaya was quicker to spring out of bed, quick enough to get her dagger into the strange yalim warrior who burst into the tent with sword raised for a quick kill. Gene finished him off, then dashed outside.
The camp had erupted into a melee. Apparently the attackers had gotten past the guards on the eastern perimeter and had already butchered dozens of sleeping tribesmen.
Two attackers rushed him. He beheaded one immediately and sent the other away eviscerated. He rushed out into the camp, yelling orders. Another attacking warrior jumped him, and this one took more time to dispatch. When Gene had finished with him, there were two more ready to try their turn.
The next few minutes seemed like days. The screaming came from men, women, and children alike and never seemed to stop. Gene fought as he never had before, losing count of how many attackers he killed. But it was all useless. The attackers had used surprise to their advantage. Gene soon realized that he was one of few survivors still putting up a fight, and that soon he would be overwhelmed and killed. He had to make it back to the Queen’s tent, get Vaya, and somehow make a break for it.
He severed his opponent’s sword arm at the wrist, saw an opening in the wall of attackers closing in, and bolted.
As he rounded the supply tent, something tripped him up and he went flying into the dirt.
He rolled over and looked up.
Yerga was standing over him, grinning wickedly, battle-ax raised. Now Gene knew how they had gotten past the guards.
A dagger blossomed in Yerga’s throat, and he staggered back and fell.
After retrieving his sword, Gene sprang to his feet. Suddenly Vaya was above him, mounted on a voort, holding out her hand. He jumped up and mounted behind her, and they rode off.
En route they trampled one attacker, and Gene split the skull of another. Then, finally, they were outside the camp, riding blindly into the darkness, sounds of pain and despair at their backs.
When the light of the campfires had finally died in the distance, Vaya pulled up on the reins and stopped. She dismounted.
“Take the voort,” she commanded, handing him the reins.
“Vaya … I’m sorry. It was my fault.”
“Ride to Annau. You belong there, as you are of the gods. I will return to my people.”
“My Queen, your people are lost. No, wait, hold on just a minute. Most of them will not die. They will be absorbed into another tribe. There’s nothing you can do for them.”
“A High Mistress belongs to her tribe. I will go back.”
“No! Their Queen will simply have you executed.”
“Then so be it.”
“Bullshit. I’m taking you with me to Annau.”
“I forbid it.”
Gene rummaged through the saddle sack and came up with a length of braided leather cord, then jumped down and stalked toward her. “Look, honey, where I come from, men give the orders. I’m not saying it’s an enlightened system, but it does simplify things a bit.”
“Husband! I command you —”
She fought like a lioness, but Gene eventually got her hands tied behind her. He tripped her up and trussed her feet with his belt. She stopped struggling and fell into a sullen silence.
He lifted her up and slung her facedown over the saddle, mounted behind her, and rode off.
She did not beg to be let go. They rode until the sun came up, whereupon he halted and took her down.
“You can untie me,” she said.
“You won’t run away?”
“No.”
“It’s over, Vaya. Your days as High Mistress are through.”
“This I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please …”
Gene cut her bonds. “I don’t blame you for hating me. I’ll take you to the Castle of the Gods, then let you go. You’ll find a new life there, just as the legends say. And you won’t have to have anything to do with me.”
She brought her gaze round to him, and he saw the tears welling.
He held out his arms. She fell into them and cried out her pain, her loss.
Twenty-seven
Sea
Dawn brought a sky of slate-gray clouds and a snowfall of volcanic ash, huge flakes of it that floated for an instant like dirty water lilies before dissolving. The makeshift cabin on board the raft made for poor shelter, but eventually they passed out of the heavy fallout zone, and the skies cleared.
The volcano brooded on the horizon like an angry god. The wind bore its fumes to them, making them choke and gag. Throats raw, they rigged the sail to catch the full force of the wind; before long they were far enough away to be out of danger of asphyxiation.
“We made it,” Sheila said, gasping.
“Not yet, I’m afraid.”
“Is the wind shifting?”
“No, it’s just that I have a funny feeling.”
“Oh. I don’t like funny feelings when I get them.”
“You wouldn’t like this one, either. Let’s eat. We may not get a chance later.”
They ate a silent meal of raw fish and breadfruit, washing it down with a few swallows of water.
After checking the rigging again, Trent sat back down under the canopy, doing so just in time to escape being splashed as a huge boulder hit water a few yards from the raft. The impact tossed the craft about like a paper boat, and a few coconut-canteens rolled overboard.
“Gods,” Trent breathed when the turbulence abated. “That thing must have traveled ten miles. I’m afraid that’s no ordinary volcano.”
“What is it?”
“Just a damned powerful one. This world must have a very active geology.”
An hour passed, and although the wind died down a bit, they still made progress. The volcano receded over the horizon, the eruption cloud becoming a dark smear against the sky.
Trent stood and searched ahead.
“No land in sight. Maybe I was wrong about a mainland being near. But, then, we’ve only come fifteen miles or so.”
“We’ll make it,” Sheila said.
“We’re doing okay so far, for a maiden voyage.”
“I’m not a maiden.”
“Damn good thing. If you were a virgin, I’d consider tossing you overboard to propitiate the sea gods.”
“Well, pish on them, too.”
He laughed at her silly joke, then they both laughed for laughing, and soon both were giddy.
“Oh, Trent, I thought we were dead.”
“Me, too. Thought we’d finally bought it. We’ve been lucky. Very lucky.”
“Who, Trent? Who did this to us? We avoid discussing it.”
“The castle seems so far away,” he said. “Yeah, I suppose I have avoided it. And the reason is that I can only imagine Incarnadine being responsible.”
Sheila was aghast. “Trent, you don’t think —?”
“I’m sorry to say I do. The thing is, Sheila, no one else has the power to do what’s been done to us. No one in the castle can summon a portal, or detach one end of it and move it. None of those tricks. Incarnadine is the only one.”
“And Ferne.”
“Yes, Ferne, of course. But I think Ferne is dead. Incarnadine said as much himself, and he ought to know.”
“You mean, when he said that he’d dealt with her with cold justice, he was saying he did away with her?”
“He used the superlative. ‘Coldest.’ That could only mean one thing. So, barring anyone in the castle suddenly developing into a magician on the order of Incarnadine himself, Incarnadine is the only suspect.”