“Look for a door,” Stark said.
“I see one. This way…”
They fought their way to the wall and around it, and it was easier now because the creatures could only come at them from three sides. And there were fewer of the creatures able to fight. But now they knew what the humans were up to, and for several minutes there had been loud calls as though for help.
They reached the door, a high and narrow door of metal set deep in the stone. “See if you can open it,” Stark said, and faced outward to hold the creatures off. Then he realized a surprising thing. They were drawing back. More and more of them drifted into the great circle, all that were left, he imagined, and suddenly a strange quiet was coming over them. They stood swaying gently, their bright streamers dabbled all with blood, and those who had come dragging after them the trophies of the chase now laid them down. Behind him Ciaran panted and cursed at the door, and then she said, “It’s open…”
It was a moment before Stark turned. A tall creature in stained flutterings of blue and green was walking among the crowd, his arms held high, calling out in a sort of chant. Apart from that there was no more sound nor movement in the circle. Stark listened. The whole bright city had gone silent.
He turned abruptly and went through the door into the tower.
“I’ll stand guard,” Ciaran said.
He shook his head. “No need. This is the end of the game.”
In the dark outer rim of the city, Balin and twenty-three men picked their way with drawn blades along the nighted avenue, starting at their own footsteps, their bellies cold with fear, cursing the pride that would not quite let them go without at least an attempt at rescue, or failing that, revenge. Far ahead of them the colored lights glowed.
There had been sounds. Now it seemed that there were no more.
Balin whispered, “Stop…”
They stopped. The world ached with silence. Even in his fear, Balin thought he could sense a waiting, a gathering, a rushing toward some tremendous and final moment. Ahead of him the lights flickered and went down. There was a deep hollow groan, more felt than heard. High overhead there was one vivid flash and then the stars sprang out clearly in the sky.
Very quickly, it began to grow cold.
It was morning. They stood on the slope at the mouth of the pass, Stark and Ciaran dressed in borrowed clothing and wrapped in borrowed cloaks. Of eleven men and women the aliens had taken, only they two survived. Behind them, the city lay quiet under the sun, rimed white with frost.
“We would have done better,” Balin said, “all of us—to forget Ban Cruach and his talisman, and hew our own wood as it came to hand.”
“Myths are unchancy things to lean on,” Stark said, and turned to Ciaran. Her hands were not bound this morning, and that was at Stark’s insistence. “Now you know that there is no power beyond the Gates of Death, and now that you have fed your red wolves with plunder, will you take your pack and leave Kushat in peace?”
She looked at him, with the cold wind blowing her hair. “I might do that—on one condition. Now that I cannot count on the talisman, I must look elsewhere for help. Ride beside me, Stark, to Narrissan, and we will guard each other’s backs as we did last night. Or have you made some other promise?”
“No promise,” Stark said. He remembered her eyes, glowing as the swords swung. A deep excitement stirred in him. “This time I’ll ride with you.”
Thanis came forward, and he caught her quickly up and kissed her to silence the angry words before she could speak them. “I owe you my life, little one, you and your brother. I do this for you, and for your Kushat. Build a new city, and build it in the world, so that your people will never end like they did.” He nodded toward the other city, dead and shining in the sun.
He set her down and took Balin’s hand. “Let us go ahead. By the time you come, the tribesmen will be clear of Kushat.” He held Balin’s strong grip a moment longer. Then he turned and walked with Ciaran, back through the Gates of Death.