Without her and the darkship, the Serke would win still.
The darkship was low. She'd probably survive the fall. Still, she had to do more than survive. She had to save the darkship. She had to be available to support her huntresses, who were in a furious firefight with the Serke huntresses. She had to ...
She reached the Mistress of the Ship. Despite the meth's salvageable condition, Marika pitched her off the position of power, ignored her cry of outrage as she fell. There was no time for niceties.
Marika closed into herself, felt for those-who-dwell, who had begun scattering, summoned them, made them stabilize the craft before it fell any farther. She drew upon the bath and willed the ship to rise.
It rose. Smoothly and easily, it rose, amazing her. This was easy! She turned it, drove it toward Critza, brought it down a little roughly just a few feet from its original hiding place.
The wounded bath died moments later, drained of all her strength. The other passed out. Marika had drawn upon them too heavily.
Marika had nothing left herself. Darkness swam before her eyes as she croaked, "Dorteka! What is the situation?"
"They have gotten dug in. There are too many of them, and they still have a few silth left. Enough to block our dark-side attacks. We dare not assault them. They would cut us apart. I am hoping the mortars will give us the needed edge. You killed the leader?"
"Yes. It was a close thing, too. I had to trick her, then shoot her. Keep using the mortars to pin them down till I recover. No heroics. Hear?"
Dorteka gave her a look that said she was a fool if she expected heroics from her teacher.
Marika drained her canteen, ate ravenously, rested. Weapons continued to crackle and boom, but she noticed them not at all.
The Serke huntresses had gotten out of their transport with nothing but small arms. Thank the All for that. Thank the All that she had been able to think quickly aboard the darkship. Else she would be dead now and the Serke would soon be victorious.
The moment she felt sufficiently strong, she ducked through her loophole, found a monster of a ghost, flung it toward where the surviving Serke silth cowered, arguing about whether or not they should try to retreat to the two unharmed vehicles and flee.
They were terrified. They were ready to abandon their followers to their fates. The one thing that held them in place was their certain knowledge of what defeat would mean to their Community.
Marika sent, Surrender and you shall live.
One of them tried to strike at her. She brushed the thrust aside.
She killed them. She touched their huntresses and told them to surrender, too, then slaughtered those who persevered till she had no more strength. She returned to flesh. "The day is yours, Dorteka. Finish it. Round up the survivors."
When it was all done neither Marika nor Dorteka had strength enough to touch Akard and let the garrison there know that the threat had been averted.
Grauel started fires and began gathering the dead, injured, and prisoners inside the ruins of Critza. She came to Marika. "All rounded up now."
"Many surrender?"
"Only a few huntresses." Her expression was one of contempt for those. "And five males. Tradermales. They were operating those vehicles."
"Guard them well. They mean the end of the threat against the Reugge. I will examine them after I have rested."
Chapter Twenty
I
The moons were up, sprawling skeletal shadows upon the mountainsides. As Marika wakened, it seemed she could still hear the echoes of shots murmuring off the river valley walls. "What is it?" Barlog had shaken her gently. The huntress wore a grim expression.
"Come. You will have to see. No explanation will do." She offered a helping paw.
Marika looked at Grauel, who shrugged. "I've been here watching over you."
Barlog said, "I moved the prisoners over here, where I thought we could control them better. I did not notice, though, till one of the males asked if they could have their own fire. I spotted him when the flames came up. Before that it was like he was somebody else."
"What are you talking about?" Marika demanded.
"I want you to see. I want to know if I am wrong."
Mairka eased between fallen building stones, paused. "Well?"
Barlog pointed. "There. Look closely."
Marika looked.
The astonishment was more punishing than a physical blow. "Kublin!" she gasped.
The tradermale jerked around, eyes widening for a moment.
Kublin. But that was impossible. Her littermate had died eight years ago, during the nomad raid that destroyed the Degnan packstead.
Grauel rested a paw upon Marika's shoulder, squeezed till it hurt. "It is. Marika, it is. How could that be? Why did I not recognize him earlier?"
"We do not look for ghosts among the living," Marika murmured. She moved a couple of steps closer. All the prisoners watched, their sullenness and despair for a moment forgotten.
The tradermale began shaking, terrified.
"Kublin," Marika murmured. "How? ... Grauel. Barlog. Keep everybody away. Don't say a word to anyone. On your lives." Her tone brooked no argument. The huntresses moved.
Marika stood there staring, remembering, for a long time. Then she moved nearer the fire. The prisoners crept back, away. They knew it was she who had brought them to this despair.
She settled onto a stone vacated by a Serke huntress. "Kublin. Come here. Sit with me."
He came, sat on cold stone, facing away from the other prisoners, who pretended not to watch. Witnesses. Something would have to be done ...
Was she mad?
She studied her littermate. He was small still, and appeared no stronger than he had been, physically or in his will. He would not meet her eye.
Yet there was an odor here. A mystery more than that surrounding his survival. Something odd about him. Perhaps it was something in the way the other males eyed him beneath their lowered brows. Was he in command? That seemed so unlikely she discarded the notion immediately.
"Tell me, Kublin. Why are you alive? I saw you cut down by the nomads. I killed them ... " But when the fighting ended, she recalled, she had been unable to find his body. "Tell me what happened."
He said nothing. He turned slightly, stared into the fire. The other males came somewhat more alert.
"You'd better talk to me, Kublin. I'm the only hope you have here."
He spat something derogatory about silth, using the dialect they had spoken in their packstead. He mumbled, and Marika no longer used the dialect even with Grauel and Barlog. She did not catch it all. But it was not flattering.
She patted his arm. "Very brave, Kublin. But think. Many of my huntresses died here today. Those who survived are not in a good temper. They have designs on you prisoners. Especially you males. You have broken all the codes and covenants. So tell me."
He shrugged. "All right."
He was never strong with her, Marika reflected. Only that time he tried to murder Pohsit.
"I crawled into Gerrien's loghouse after dark. There was still a fire going in the male end. I tried to get to it, but I fell into the cellar. I passed out. I do not remember very much after that. I kept trying to get out again, I think. I hurt a lot. There was a fever. The Laspe found me several days later. I was out of my mind, they said. Fever and hunger."
Marika drew one long, slow, deep breath, exhaled as slowly. Behind closed eyes she slowly played back the nightmare that had haunted her for so long. Being trapped in a dank, dark place, badly hurt, trying to climb a stair that would not permit climbing ...
"The Laspe nursed me back to health, out of obligation. I must have been out of my head a long time. My first clear memories are of the Laspe three or four weeks after the nomads came. They were not pleased to have me around. Next summer, when tradermales came through, I went away with Khronen. He took me to Critza. I lived there till the nomads came and breached the walls. When it became obvious help from Akard would not arrive in time, the master put all the pups aboard the escape vehicles and helped us shoot our way out. We were sent someplace in the south. When I became old enough, I was given a job as a driver. My orders eventually brought me here."