Nepanthe watched unhappily, but wasn't greatly distressed. All emotion paled in this shadowland palatinate to final death.
Flash.
The iron men were no more.
"It left the cage!" said Varthlokkur. "Nothing can do that."
"No? Something can," the Old Man countered. "Things without life. Things immune to sorcery." He eyed the Star Rider, wearing an expression suggesting that he and the interloper shared secrets.
The Star Rider looked back. "I'll have to hurry. There's not much time." He turned to his Horn, murmured.
Mysterious devices appeared. These he quickly attached to the corpses over the vital organs. In a rush, then, he summoned an object resembling a massive, ornate coffin.
"I see what he's up to," the Old Man said excitedly. "Nobody's done it in ages. Full resurrection. A lost art. Only he and I, today, could manage, and I never had the tools. It's the box that's important. Everything else is gimcrackery meant to preserve the vitals." H is excitement collapsed into gloom. "But he won't have time to revive all of us. Even he can't do much to slow brain deterioration."
"Quiet!" Mocker rumbled.
Nepanthe whirled. "Don't you talk..." Her rebuke died. The Old Man wasn't his target. He glared at the shades of the easterners. They had begun carping at one another again.
Her gaze traveled on, to her corpse, and she became aware of its nudity. "Cover me, please."
Varthlokkur, chuckling, said, "He can't hear you. Not that it would make any difference." He indicated her ghost-being, and those of the others. Each was mother-naked.
"But he looked at me. Or I could do it myself." She felt foolish, worrying about modesty now.
"A guess, facing our way. He knows we're here, but not where we are. Nor can you move material things. Best get used to being naked."
"Fitting," Mocker grumbled. "Shame of whore-wife made evident to all eyes."
"Be careful," Varthlokkur said angrily.
"Time," the Old Man interjected. "He's working too slow. He can't possibly save us all." A touch of hysteric hope rode his voice as he added, "He'll get me, though. He owes me. I saved his life once."
"Smug millenarian!" Mocker snapped. His situation had begun to disturb him at last.
His testiness, further upset Nepanthe. "It's silly for us to fight now. So stop."
"Silence, shame of imbecilic believer in anythings!" His self-righteousness was thick enough to cut.
Nepanthe's spirit, the fire her brothers had wanted quenched, flared. She advanced on Mocker like a stalking medusa. He retreated, retreated till, suddenly, he found himself cornered.
Forcing his attention, with a white-hot intensity, she told him everything that had occurred during their separation. "Listen!" she snarled, whenever he tried to interrupt, and, "Look at me!" when his gaze wandered. She finished with, "And that's the absolute truth."
He remained dubious, but found himself inclined to withdraw judgment. "Time will demonstrate verity of same. Or no." Then, startling her with a sudden change of tack, "Is sorcerer truly father of self?"
"He seems convinced."
"Truth told, wife of self is with child? Child of self?"
"Yes. Your baby." She turned to watch the Star Rider, as much to mask her emotions as to watch him struggle to hoist a corpse into his life-giving coffin.
She suffered a surge of panic. What about the baby?
She had to live. So the child could be saved. She rushed round the cage so she could see who had been chosen.
Varthlokkur.
For a moment she hated him with a depth that astounded the rational part of her. She should go first. For the child's sake.
Her own mind mocked her. She wasn't worried about the baby. She just didn't want to die.
Varthlokkur's body flopped into the coffin. The Star Rider slammed its lid, growled at his Horn. As always, he did so in a language nobody understood. The Horn whistled. The coffin began humming.
Nepanthe ran at the Star Rider, shrieked, "Me first, you idiot! Me!" She pounded at him with the heels of her fists. He waved a hand before his face as if to brush away spiderwebs.
Mocker laughed. "More cosmic justice. Wicked woman forgotten. Likewise, self-important old geezer. Am much pleased. Am ecstatical, Star Rider."
"Shut up!" Nepanthe screamed. "Somebody make him shut up. Our son..."
"But is hilarious, Dear Heart, Diamond Eyes. On Candareen, after big wedding, new wife promised to follow fog-headed husband to gates of Hell. Might do same now, maybeso."
Even before he finished he was sorry that vindictive-ness had mastered his tongue again. He realized, intellectually, that his fear was taking creeping control of his emotions, his responses.
He couldn't push it back.
Varthlokkur wandered dazedly. His body was calling him back. Struggling to keep control, he paused by Nepanthe long enough to whisper, "Remember your promises once we've been returned to life."
Nepanthe nodded. How much pain would loving two men bring? Boundless, she feared.
It had seemed so elementary before Mocker's arrival.
Varthlokkur rambled toward the coffin, and there mumbled a childhood prayer.
The Star Rider was a slow old man no longer. He knelt among the corpses, swiftly manipulating the devices meant to preserve.
Mocker, yielding to his fear completely, harassed Varthlokkur mercilessly. "Old Devil, Death of llkazar, show decency for once. Do right instead of evil..."
The Old Man, too, succumbed to emotion, though he directed his bitterness at the Star Rider. "Ingrate," he said softly. "Have you forgotten Nawami? Who kept you from the tortures of the Odite?"
This Shadowland, Nepanthe reflected, though cooling the gentler emotions, certainly nurtured selfishness. Being dead, with time to anticipate a deeper death ahead, unleashed the black hounds of the soul.
A sudden thought startled Nepanthe. Maybe this was a trial period and otie's behavior during the waiting determined a final reward.
She was redeemed from terrifying speculations by a sudden stillness.
Varthlokkur had vanished.
The Star Rider opened the coffin.
The wizard was breathing shallowly. A rosiness had returned to his skin, which twitched and jerked. No blood leaked from his wound.
The Star Rider spoke, using a spell of healing which the Old Man recognized. Then he packed the area of damage with a malodorous unguent and applied bandages.
Nepanthe warily studied her companions-in-shadow from beside the coffin. Identical thoughts haunted their minds.
Who would be next?
The way the Old Man talked, one of them wouldn't make it. Maybe two. The next selected could well be the last to return with a whole mind.
Briefly, Nepanthe hated both men for infringing on her chances. Then she concluded that she would have to be chosen next. Even the Star Rider couldn't be so unchivalrous as to ignore a woman's plight. Could he?
"I saved his life, you know," the Old Man said again. "We were partners. During the Nawami Crusade. The Director slipped up. Nahaman, the Odite, became suspicious..." He shut up, realizing at last that he needed to keep some things behind his teeth even here.
Nepanthe and Mocker exchanged blank glances.
They could be pardoned. Even the wisest of the historians at Hellin Daimiel's Rebsamen University were ignorant of the Nawami Crusades. Those had taken place long ago and far away, and had been so bitter that almost no one had survived to pass along their tale.
"Shut up!" Nepanthe snarled in sudden hatred. She was afraid he was telling the truth, that he did have some extraordinary claim on the Star Rider's mercy. "Do your bragging after he puts me in. I won't have to listen to it then."