He tried to give her a sense of Ramad’s life, the same sense, the same scenes that Skeelie had given him so often, Time warping and thrusting Ram forward into generations not yet born in his time. And as Lobon wrapped her in the visions of Ramad’s life, a change swept Lobon himself, twisted his very soul, the final changing sense of what Ramad was, what Ramad’s life had meant.
And so what his own life meant.
She sat Seeing it all, sensing with him the power of Ramad’s quest for the shards of the runestone, gripped by Ramad’s commitment, by the urgency that Ramad had felt, even in his own time, for the salvation of Ere.
When the vision faded, she sat silent. He could not remember having moved so close to her. It was impossible to keep from touching her. Now she shared Ramad’s life with him, shared his memory with him. When he took her hand, she startled; but she rose and moved away. Then she turned a forbidding look back at him that only made his desire stronger. He stood up, meaning to go to her, but a stir of wind at the bars made him turn back. Michennann was there, her wings flared against the sky. As she thrust her soft gray nose between the bars, Meatha ran to her, then hugged her through the bars and wept against the mare’s cheek as Michennann nuzzled her.
At last Michennann drew back, placed her muzzle in Meatha’s outstretched hands, and spit a great wad of birdmoss into her palms, shaking her nose afterward at the sharp, bitter taste. She nuzzled Meatha’s cheek once more, then she was gone, in a lifting hush of wings, almost straight up through the abyss. They could feel her terror of the abyss, her repulsion. Meatha watched her out of sight, then turned to dressing Feldyn’s wound with a little of the birdmoss.
When Feldyn was comfortable, she made Lobon lie down, and bared and dressed his shoulder. The birdmoss was still damp from the stream. He watched her, and he wanted to hold her.
“We must not,” she said coldly. She tied the bandage and left him, rubbing the birdmoss from her hands into the burns that scarred her arms. The remaining moss she laid on a stone.
His passion remained like a fever, he could not turn his mind from her. His dreams of her soared and swept him away so he woke exhilarated and needing, then woke fully to feel only frustration. He knew his passion was of Kish’s making, that its results if ever it were let free would threaten all of Ere, but still he was miserable. He did not know what Meatha dreamed, though at times her desire reached burning to him.
And Meatha began to think privately, If we bred a child, a child that could be hidden safe from Kish and from the dark forces, a child to wield the stone long after we are dead, a child—Lobon’s child . . . a child who would keep safe the forces of light . . .
She began to waver in her resolve. She wanted Lobon, she wanted to be one with him. She turned away from him again and again, biting back tears.
“Meatha?”
She could not look at him directly. Her hands shook. His presence, his powers, drew her like a creature in a snare. He moved toward her.
Feldyn growled. Crieba stepped between them, snarling.
He dropped his hand and stepped back. He stared down at Crieba’s cold eyes, and sense returned to him. “I will try to find a way out,” he said flatly. “A way back through the cave.” And he left them.
*
Well before dawn, Michennann spoke silently but so urgently that Meatha jerked upright. She thought the mare was again at the gate, but saw only emptiness beyond the bars. Cammett has died. She is lying twisted in the traces that bound her. But her spirit is free now, free. Meatha understood then that Michennann spoke from the valley above. The mare’s terrible sadness tore at her, Michennann’s terrible hatred of the warrior queen.
When she looked up and saw that Lobon was not in the cave, it took her a minute to remember that he was not simply getting a drink of water. Had he found a way out? Oh, he would not go without her. She felt a moment of panic, and then she reached out to him, searching, afraid to hope that there was another entrance to this cave. How could there be? The dragon would never have locked them here if they could escape.
She felt his presence, as warm and close as if he knelt beside her; Saw his face in a sudden vision and had to smile, so smeared with dirt was he, his cheeks and nose, his hands—his hands were bleeding, the nails torn where he clutched a stone. He had been digging in the cave wall. As she watched, he thrust his arm through the small hole he had made, she felt him reach into empty space, sensed now the narrow tunnel beyond. It was blocked, he told her, a wall of dirt and stone. And the earth charred as if the fire ogres had built it. Come, Meatha, quickly. Help Feldyn if you can while I dig it out so we can get through.
She wrapped the wolves’ chains around their necks as best she could. Crieba pushed ahead. Feldyn came slowly, hobbling, caught in the pain of his wounds. She could sense Lobon’s tension, was linked with Lobon and the wolves in careful blocking to prevent discovery by the warrior queen.
Meatha and the wolves were soon past the trickle of water in the inner tunnel, could hear Lobon digging now. Then suddenly they felt Kish’s presence somewhere out in the abyss. They pushed on faster, Feldyn ignoring his pain. The dark wolf pressed against her to hurry her. Then Kish was at the gate, they could hear her opening it. They felt her alarm, then her sharp, angry cry echoed down the tunnel. “Gone! They are gone! Bring swords, bring—hurry, you stupid beasts!”
They sensed her searching the cave, then pushing deeper in, sensed fire ogres shuffling behind her covering the ground too quickly. Soon behind them the tunnel began to grow red, and they knew that the ogres had pushed past Kish in their predatory and mindless quest.
They came on Lobon suddenly, pulling rocks away from a small ragged hole in the stone and earthen walls. He pushed Meatha through, Crieba leaped after her, then Lobon lifted Feldyn, for the dark wolf could not jump. Meatha took Feldyn’s shoulders, heavy as lead, and at last they got him through. He stood on unsteady legs, then moved ahead again as the fiery light behind them increased.
They hurried, pressed against one another in the narrow space. Soon behind them they heard rock being torn away from the hole, heard the bulky ogres pushing through. Lobon picked Feldyn up, and they ran. But the dark wolf weighed heavy, Meatha could feel Lobon tire, feel the throbbing pain in his shoulder and arm. “Let me take part of his weight,” she whispered. Feldyn snarled in protest, then was still.
With Feldyn’s forelegs on Meatha’s shoulders and Lobon carrying his rear, they moved faster though clumsily in what, in other circumstances, would have been a ludicrous scene, but was now too desperate to be funny. And even with their increased speed, Kish and the ogres were gaining. At another turning in the tunnel, when fire flared close behind, Feldyn leaped free in spite of his hurt leg and stood beside Crieba facing the advancing fire ogres. Kish pushed forward between them, her bow taut. “You will go no farther . . .” But the wolves leaped and tore at her so she dropped her bow; her knife flashed; Lobon struck an ogre with a rock, struck again, was past it and on the warrior queen as she slashed at Crieba; it was then they saw the fissure, a small crevice in the rock that seemed to go some distance. Lobon’s thought flashed at Meatha. Get in there! Take Feldyn! It’s too small for ogres! More fire ogres were pushing up the tunnel from the cave. Meatha balked. Lobon grabbed her and pushed her into the crevice as Crieba leaped at Kish.
“I won’t leave you, I—”
“Take Feldyn, he—” And Lobon twisted away to face the warrior queen and ogres. Feldyn snarled at Meatha and pushed her into the crevice, crowded in after her, pressing her on. Behind them the battle was fierce.