clarity.
As Sarevan had broken the wolf, so he broke the lady of the
empire and cast her down. But she clung to consciousness. She smiled as he set
his foot on her. Her smile was beautiful, and yet it was horrible; for it was a
smile of triumph.
“The battle,” she said, “is yours, O slave of the burning
god. But the war is mine.”
She grasped his foot with her last desperate strength, and
thrust it up and back. Lightnings leaped from her hands.
She laughed, high and sweet and taunting. It was laughter
made to madden a man, if he were young and proud and filled with the wrath of
his god.
It pricked, it stung. It drove Sarevan back; it roused his
power anew. He wielded the lightning like a sword. He swooped upon his tormentor
and smote her where she lay.
FOUR
The silence was abrupt and absolute.
Sarevan stood empty-handed. His face was grey, his bandage
scarlet.
Slowly, stiffly, he knelt. He touched the body of the
sorceress. It lay whole and unmarred, as if it slept; but no breath stirred.
Sarevan sat on his heels. “’Varyan,” he whispered. “O
Avaryan.”
Hirel, having tasted the warmth of madness, found sanity
grim and cold. He stood over the priest and the sorceress. The priestess was
gone, if she had ever been aught but illusion.
Sarevan raised his head. His eyes were dull. Even his hair
seemed dim, faded, the brightness gone from it. He scraped it out of his eyes.
“I killed her,” he said calmly.
“So I see,” responded Hirel.
“Do you? Can you?” Sarevan laughed. It was not comfortable
to hear. “That was the trap. To make me kill her. To make—me—” His voice
cracked like a boy’s. He leaped to his feet, staggered, caught himself. “Quick
now. Walk.”
“Where?”
Sarevan swayed again. He looked about, peering as if he
could not see; he drew a breath that caught in his throat. “Walk,” he gritted.
“ Walk , damn you.”
They walked. The door melted away before them.
No one saw them, and they saw no one. Perhaps they did not
walk in the world at all. They came up out of the dungeon, and they walked
through a high house richly furnished, part of which Hirel thought he could
remember; but not even an insect stirred. And the gate opened not on the city
of Shon’ai but on greenness and sunlight and a whisper of water.
Sarevan stumbled and fell to his knees. Hirel snatched at
him; he pushed the hands away. His head tossed from side to side. His eyes were
wide and blind.
“It’s gone,” he said. “All of it. All gone.” A sound escaped
him, half laughter, half sob. “I gave her the death she longed for. She—she
gave me worse. Infinitely worse.”
“What—” Hirel began.
Sarevan’s eyes rolled up. Slowly, bonelessly, he toppled.
Hirel caught too late, managed only to drag himself down
under a surprising weight. It ended across his lap, leaden heavy, barely
breathing. Trapping him, pinning him to the ground. He struggled briefly and
wildly.
Abruptly he stilled. Willing himself to be calm, to think.
It was the fiercest battle he had ever known, and the greatest victory.
Hirel regarded the face upturned in his lap. It was much the
same as ever, dark, high-nosed, haughty; even unconscious it was hollowed with
exhaustion.
Hirel shivered in the sun’s warmth. This creature had called
on a power that could not, should not exist. Had flown without wings, and
wielded the lightning, and destroyed two mages who had come against him.
Sarevan who had found an Asanian prince in a fernbrake and condescended to be
his guard; who never wore more than he must, who was conspicuously vain of his
body, who ate and drank and slept and sometimes had bad dreams. He sweated when
the sun was hot and shivered when the night was cold, and bathed when he needed
it, which was often enough, and relieved himself exactly as every other man
must. No showers of enchanted gold.
Hirel bit his lips until they bled. There were mages, and
Sarevan was one, and if mages could be, then what of
As Sarevan had broken the wolf, so he broke the lady of the
empire and cast her down. But she clung to consciousness. She smiled as he set
his foot on her. Her smile was beautiful, and yet it was horrible; for it was a
smile of triumph.
“The battle,” she said, “is yours, O slave of the burning
god. But the war is mine.”
She grasped his foot with her last desperate strength, and
thrust it up and back. Lightnings leaped from her hands.
She laughed, high and sweet and taunting. It was laughter
made to madden a man, if he were young and proud and filled with the wrath of
his god.
It pricked, it stung. It drove Sarevan back; it roused his
power anew. He wielded the lightning like a sword. He swooped upon his tormentor
and smote her where she lay.
FOUR
The silence was abrupt and absolute.
Sarevan stood empty-handed. His face was grey, his bandage
scarlet.
Slowly, stiffly, he knelt. He touched the body of the
sorceress. It lay whole and unmarred, as if it slept; but no breath stirred.
Sarevan sat on his heels. “’Varyan,” he whispered. “O
Avaryan.”
Hirel, having tasted the warmth of madness, found sanity
grim and cold. He stood over the priest and the sorceress. The priestess was
gone, if she had ever been aught but illusion.
Sarevan raised his head. His eyes were dull. Even his hair
seemed dim, faded, the brightness gone from it. He scraped it out of his eyes.
“I killed her,” he said calmly.
“So I see,” responded Hirel.
“Do you? Can you?” Sarevan laughed. It was not comfortable
to hear. “That was the trap. To make me kill her. To make—me—” His voice
cracked like a boy’s. He leaped to his feet, staggered, caught himself. “Quick
now. Walk.”
“Where?”
Sarevan swayed again. He looked about, peering as if he
could not see; he drew a breath that caught in his throat. “Walk,” he gritted.
“ Walk , damn you.”
They walked. The door melted away before them.
No one saw them, and they saw no one. Perhaps they did not
walk in the world at all. They came up out of the dungeon, and they walked
through a high house richly furnished, part of which Hirel thought he could
remember; but not even an insect stirred. And the gate opened not on the city
of Shon’ai but on greenness and sunlight and a whisper of water.
Sarevan stumbled and fell to his knees. Hirel snatched at
him; he pushed the hands away. His head tossed from side to side. His eyes were
wide and blind.
“It’s gone,” he said. “All of it. All gone.” A sound escaped
him, half laughter, half sob. “I gave her the death she longed for. She—she
gave me worse. Infinitely worse.”
“What—” Hirel began.
Sarevan’s eyes rolled up. Slowly, bonelessly, he toppled.
Hirel caught too late, managed only to drag himself down
under a surprising weight. It ended across his lap, leaden heavy, barely
breathing. Trapping him, pinning him to the ground. He struggled briefly and
wildly.
Abruptly he stilled. Willing himself to be calm, to think.
It was the fiercest battle he had ever known, and the greatest victory.
Hirel regarded the face upturned in his lap. It was much the
same as ever, dark, high-nosed, haughty; even unconscious it was hollowed with
exhaustion.
Hirel shivered in the sun’s warmth. This creature had called
on a power that could not, should not exist. Had flown without wings, and
wielded the lightning, and destroyed two mages who had come against him.
Sarevan who had found an Asanian prince in a fernbrake and condescended to be
his guard; who never wore more than he must, who was conspicuously vain of his
body, who ate and drank and slept and sometimes had bad dreams. He sweated when
the sun was hot and shivered when the night was cold, and bathed when he needed
it, which was often enough, and relieved himself exactly as every other man
must. No showers of enchanted gold.
Hirel bit his lips until they bled. There were mages, and
Sarevan was one, and if mages could be, then what of
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