Perkar blinked. “Before… ?”
“When you stole my things.”
A year ago, Perkar realized, when Apad and Eruka and the Kapaka and the Alwat all died. “We… we came to request more land for pasture, so that we need not fight the Mang.”
Balati gazed down at him for some time. “That is reasonable,” he said. “You may have them.”
“Have them?”
“Two valleys, the two which lie along west of the rim of Agir-uluta. You know the place?”
“Yes, Lord,” Perkar muttered faintly. “I know it. Thank you.”
But the Forest Lord no longer stood before him.
Now only the mare remained, stood near where Tsem crouched, weeping, beside Hezhi. The mare walked toward him, and as she did so, she became a woman, Mang-seeming, handsome. She looked angry.
“The girl Hezhi still has some life in her, and since she is the house my little colt lives in, I have healed her. Your friend will live.”
“Thank you,” Perkar murmured.
“Do not thank me yet.” She knelt nearby and put her hand to Ngangata's throat. Then she turned to him again. ”You slew one of my children in a foul and vicious way. You cut her legs from under her and left her to suffer.”
“I did,” Perkar admitted. “I have no excuse.”
“No, you don't. And so as punishment, I will give you a choice. I will either heal the halfling or you, but not both.”
Perkar closed his eyes. He did want to live. His goal was accomplished, and suddenly he could imagine a life that might have Piraku and perhaps even joy in it. He might once again sip woti, own cattle—and with Hezhi alive, he might even find a companion. And he was afraid', afraid of the hours of torture that lay before him, of the oblivion to come …
“You are cruel,” he said. ”Of course you must save my friend.”
The Horse Mother hesitated. “Perhaps I should do the contrary then. If you really want this one to live, then he shall die.”
His mouth worked, but he couldn't manage an objection, realizing the mistake he had made. After all, hadn't he used the same logic against the River long ago? Tried to guess his desire and then frustrate it?
But then the Horse Mother laid her hands on Ngangata. “No,” she said. “I haven't the heart for that sort of cruelty. I was just taunting you. Ngangata will live. But I will not help you—I will not go so far.”
“Thank you,” he managed.
And then she, like the Forest Lord, was gone.
He lay there for a moment, watched the now steady rise and fall of Ngangata's chest.
“Tsem,” Perkar whispered. Perhaps the half Giant could be persuaded to kill him quickly. But before he could utter another word, a sudden, sharper pain took him into oblivion.
IT took everything he had to stand still while the white-faced demon swung his sword again. But this time the pain and the shock meant very little to him. He was almost thankful to Perkar. To Hezhi and Ghan, he was thankful. “Good-bye, Hezhi,” he sighed, as shade descended.
He was a little boy, walking along the levee, looking for a dead fish, anything to eat. His feet were cut and bleeding from fleeing across broken shards of pottery; the soldiers had seen him taking a merchant's purse of gold, and of course he had dropped it in the pursuit.
Ahead on the levee he saw an old woman, basking in the sunshine. She had an apple and a salted catfish before her on a red cloth. And bread, warm black bread that he could smell, even on the fetid breeze from the marsh. He felt about in his pocket again—but his knife was really gone. He walked toward the old woman anyway, thinking hard.
She saw him and frowned—but then she waved him over.
“I saw you looking at my food,” she said. He nodded sullenly.
“I've seen you before, on Red Gar Street.”
He shrugged, unable to take his eyes from the fish.
“We'll play a game,” the old woman said. She reached into a little bag and withdrew three clay cups and a copper soldier. She lined the cups up, placed the copper under one of them, and then moved them about quickly.
“Keep your eye on the copper,” she said. “Now, tell which cup the coin is under, and Fll give you my bread.”
“It isn't under a cup,” he said. “It's in your hand.”
She opened her hand, and there it was. “How did you know that?” she asked.
“I've seen you on Red Gar Street, too.”
She laughed. “Take the fish and the bread.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I like you,” she answered.
“That's no reason to give me something,” he said, but he took the food anyway, as she watched through narrowed eyes.
“My name is Li,” she told him, as he swallowed a huge hunk of the bread.
He stopped chewing then. “Really? Are you really Li?”
The old woman smiled thinly and shook her head. “No, child, not really, no more than there was a soldier under those cups. But I can take you to where she is.”
“You're the Lady.”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn't I be afraid of you?” “Yes and no. Are you?” Ghe shrugged. “A little. Will I disappear?” The Lady smiled. “Now that would be telling. Why don't we go see?”
Ghe nodded. “May I finish the bread first? I'm still hungry.” “Of course, child. Finish the fish, too.”
HEZHI awoke, cradled in Tsem's arms. The pain in her side was still present, but when she felt for the wound, that was gone, though her clothes were sticky—in some places stiff—with dried blood. She remembered—knew—that it was her own.
Tsem stirred, tilting his coarse features down to look at her. They also were smeared with dried blood—a cut marked the summit of a huge gray lump above one massive brow—and caked further with dirt. Below his eyes, tears had cut runnels through blood and dirt, but he was dry-eyed now.
“I'm tired,” she muttered. “Thirsty. Tsem, are you all right?”
“I have a headache, and I was worried about you. The Black-god knocked me down and I hit my head. I guess he was too busy to bother with killing me.”
“Where is the Blackgod now?”
“Gone.”
She tried to look around. “Is anyone dead?”
Tsem nodded his head sadly. “You almost were, but a horse healed you. I know that sounds stupid.”
“No, it makes sense,” she told him. “Who is dead?”
“Brother Horse. Bone Eel, Qwen Shen. Lots of soldiers.”
“Perkar? Ngangata?”
“Ngangata is fine. He's doing what he can for Perkar.”
“Perkar? Is he badly hurt?”
“Very badly, Princess. He will probably die.”
“I should—maybe I can help him.” But she knew that she could not. Brother Horse had never taught her how to mend a torn body, only how to cast off possession. And neither of her remaining familiars had such arts. And they, too, were weak. But Perkar! Added to Brother Horse and Ghan …
“Take me to him,” she pleaded.
Tsem nodded, lifted her up, and carried her to where Perkar lay.
He was near death, she could see that. Ngangata had bound up his belly, but blood still leaked through the bandage, and he must be bleeding inside, for she could see his spirit ebb.
“She healed me but not him,” Ngangata muttered when they arrived.
“Who?”
“The Horse Mother.”
Hezhi took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “She said he offended her—” she began.
Ngangata laughed harshly. “Yes, he did. That's Perkar, always offending some god or other.” He tried to smile, with small success.
“But his sword. Can't his sword heal him?”
“The Blackgod destroyed Harka,” Ngangata explained.
“What do we do?” Tsem asked quietly.
“Wait, I suppose,” Ngangata replied stiffly.
Hezhi nodded and took one of Perkar's cool, bloody hands in hers. The smell of iron and water was strong, but the cavern was quiet now, and the last of the flames on the water had dwindled to a pale glow. Hezhi began, at long last, to cry—for Ghan, for Perkar, for Brother Horse—even for Ghe. She cried until a light appeared, high above them, a disk of gray and then blue; beyond Erikwer, the sun had risen.