'I'm talking about miracles,' Freelorn said with infinite weariness, 'and all you're interested in is how drunk I am.'
Herewiss poured again for Freelorn. 'You throw up and I'll make you scrub the floor.'
'Throw up! This stuff is like mother's milk,' Freelorn said, spacing the words with exaggerated care. 'Thanks.' He smiled, a small gentle smile strangely at odds with his inebriation. 'Come to bed with me tonight?'
'In a while. I have some things to take care of first. Wait for me?'
'I'm not going anywhere. Except,' and Freelorn wobbled to his feet, 'to sleep.'
'Later, then.'
Freelorn made his way around the firepit, nudging his people one by one. 'Come on,' he said, 'everybody get up and go to bed . . .'
Herewiss got carefully to his feet and crossed the hall to the uneven stairs. As he went up them he noticed two doors hadn't been there earlier in the day. He paused only long enough to note that one of them looked out on some green place with a river running through it, and the other on a waste of cold water beneath a bleak gray sky.
Coming up to the tower room, he dissolved the appearance of solid wall that camouflaged its doorway, passed through, and sealed it behind him. Sunspark was waiting for him on the furs and cushions in the corner, stretched out, lush and warmly beautiful in the silvery moonlight from the open window. Light from the two great candlesticks on Herewiss's worktable caught in her red hair and touched it with coppery sparks and glitters.
(You were a long time coming,) she said.
'It's been a while since Freelorn was here. We had a lot to talk about.'
(I would imagine.) The sudden flicker of jealousy again, like bared swords in the moonlight; but not as strong as the last time.
'Spark, relax,' Herewiss said. He went to the window and looked out. The Moon was gibbous, waxing toward the full, and from the walls of the hold to the horizon, the desert shone silver and black. The midnight stars struggled feebly with the moonlight, cold and pale and mocking, faint as the Flame within him.
(I didn't mean it,) Sunspark said. (Ah, Herewiss, it's hard to do, this loving—)
'You mean it,' he said. 'And, yes, this loving is hard. There is nothing harder, which is probably the way it should be, for there's also nothing more precious, I think. Spark, please, don't be afraid of me. I love you well as you are.' He leaned on the windowsill, wondering whether the wine was the source of the strange feeling inside him — a feeling like something trying to happen.
(Something's bothering you—) Sunspark got up and came to him, slipped warm arms around him from behind.
'No more than usual. Maybe I should go away for a little while, though, walk around in the world a little, get away from all these damn doors for a while—'
He stroked one of Sunspark's arms absently. 'Maybe. Sunspark, I'm sorry, I'm just not in the mood tonight.'
(Oh? How's this, then? You liked it before.) The elemental shimmered momentarily, and when the wavering died down he stood there, a lithe young man, arms still around Herewiss.
'No, loved,' Herewiss chuckled, turning around and hugging him back, 'that's not what I meant. I have some things to do, a feeling I want to follow up. That's all.'
(Well enough, then. I'm going to tend to that brush. Whatever this is about, though — be careful!)
'I will.'
Sunspark dissolved into flame, then went out altogether.
Herewiss stood at the window long enough to notice the faint radiance spring into life on the horizon. He turned away, then, went to a chest on one side of the room, opened it and rummaged around. He found the bottle of Soulflight, went over to the pile of cushions by the window, and sat down wearily.
He could feel time fast flowing over him, taking little pieces of him with it as a stream whirls flotsam unresisting down its current. There was no more time. He was being worn away steadily by the days, and raggedly by his fears -Sunspark had been quite right about that. The image of the hralcin, ravening silently at the dark door, wanting him with an implacable hunger, moved again in the back of his mind. The sight of Freelorn and the sound of his voice hadn't driven it away — merely startled it into stillness, like the bright fierce glance of a hawk. Now the vague dark shape stirred, restless, and looked at him with deadly patience—
He cursed his overactive imagination, wishing that the hralcin would just go away and leave him alone. But no achievement is without price, he reminded himself, most especially the dark ones—
Herewiss looked at the little stone bottle, wondering if it was going to be worth it. After he came down in the morning, things would be no different. The hralcin would still be behind the door, hungering for him, and the Power would be no more his than it was now.
But Soulflight was good for walking the future as well as the past. He could go forward, look down the course of his life from its end and see if there was some way to forge the sword he needed. Or a way to stop the hralcin, to kill it—
No, no. When you use Soulflight to look forward, it shows you options, chances, pathways — there's no way to tell which is actually going to happen. And even with the drug there are usually gaps in the pathways, variables that can't be predicted—
He rolled the bottle slowly between his hands. And as far as the hralcin goes, I doubt that I could avail myself of any art that I might learn. I'm so tired, I couldn't turn the sky dark at nightfall. And by the time I'm strong enough to try something useful, that thing will probably come back and break the binding down. No, that's no good.
Herewiss gripped the bottle hard. No matter how I approach this mess, the answer keeps coming up the same — I'm not going to live out the week. Well, so be it. I plowed this crooked furrow and now I must sow in it. But by the Goddess, if I'm going to die, I'll die knowing my Name!
He took the lovers'-cup, filled it with the last half-cup or so of the Narchaerid, and poured a dollop of the drug into it from the little bottle. It fell slowly in a clear ribboning stream like honey, and he watched the bubbles in it as he poured. I'll have to look at my Name before this night is over. But first I'll make my peace with myself, with Lorn — let him understand what's been happening, why I'm doing what I am. Maybe the understanding will help him handle my loss. Oh, Mother, I wish I didn't have to die, I wish I'd let that door alone, it's going to hurt Lorn so much when I'm gone—
He rubbed his eyes briefly. Enough of that. I have to leave him in love and with joy, otherwise it'll be worse for him. And the others deserve my best, too. Their dreams will take them past the Door, I'll meet them there — and then go on. No shying away from the truth this time. Oops, better stop here — and he pulled the bottle away, twirled it free of a last drop that clung to the lip. He stoppered the bottle and set it aside carefully. I do want to come back.
He swirled the cup to mix the drug with the wine. And something else I could do. If I've got to die, then I will share myself with Lorn tonight, as those beyond the door share, wholly, in that union which transcends the ecstasies of the flesh. One last sharing, one last best gift before that damn hralcin gets me—
He drank the wine down, a long draft that made him choke a little. There was a burning at the back of his throat, but it passed. Herewiss reached over for another jug of wine — not Narchaerid, but a vin ordinaire from up north — poured a cupful, and sat down to wait for the drug to work.
He watched the moonlight move ever so slightly across the floor, and the silence of the desert night sank deeply into him. For a moment his eyes rested on this morning's sword, which lay up against the wall a few feet away. Nothing more than a long dead piece of steel, carven with no runes, untreated, untried in any way. He tried for a moment to think of something new to do with it, but could see nothing in his mind but the depressing sight of a fine sword, beaten out of strong tempered steel, shattering itself to splinters at the touch of the Power.