The Thousand Names Part 57

Marcus grabbed for Ja.n.u.s again, dragging him back to his feet and away from the statue. He was just lumbering into a run when Jen noticed. Her frustrated scream melded weirdly with the nails-on-gla.s.s sound of flas.h.i.+ng magic.

Her right hand came around in a fast horizontal swipe. Another ripple tore out, and Marcus threw himself to the floor, dragging Ja.n.u.s down with him. He heard shattering rock behind him as the wave hit a statue, and then the ominous groan and crack of s.h.i.+fting stone. On blind instinct, he rolled sideways, and a moment later bits of rock were cras.h.i.+ng down all around him, small fragments pattering off his coat and pinging away across the floor.

When it was over, he raised his head. His blue uniform was coated in a thick layer of pale dust, which cascaded off him as he rose. Chips and fragments of stone lay all around. The main body of the statue, an armored figure with the head of a chimpanzee, had fallen near where he and Ja.n.u.s had been lying. Marcus hurried around it to find that the colonel had thrown himself mostly clear. One of the ape's outstretched arms had crashed down on his leg, leaving him pinned under its weight.

"Colonel!"

Marcus knelt and tried to get his fingers under the statue, then gave it his best heave. The ma.s.s of stone barely s.h.i.+fted.

"Leave it," Ja.n.u.s said. His voice was still calm, but Marcus could see the strain in those deep gray eyes. "My leg appears to be broken in any case." He pushed himself up on his elbows, s.h.i.+vered, and lay back down. "Yes. Definitely broken. Get out of here, Captain."

"But-"

Ja.n.u.s turned his head, fixing Marcus with an implacable stare. "What are you planning to do? You can't stop her. The whole regiment might not be able to stop her." Ja.n.u.s gave a cough as the clouds of dust swirled past. "I suggest you go along with her. For the sake of your career, not to mention your life."

"I can't just leave you with her!"

"Go, Marcus," the colonel spat. "Now. That is an order."

"d.a.m.n it, Marcus!" Jen's voice drifted through the smoke. Sparks flared again, and Marcus turned and ran.

WINTER.

Feor collapsed all at once, as though every bone in her body had turned to jelly. One moment she was scurrying along at Winter's side, the next she was dangling from Winter's hand like a corpse.

At the same instant, distant light flared, cutting through the miasma of smoke and dust that choked the ancient temple. The sound that accompanied it set Winter's teeth on edge, a high-pitched sc.r.a.ping whine that seemed to bypa.s.s the ears and resonate directly in her gut. She stumbled under Feor's sudden deadweight, then managed to drag the girl a few more feet and prop her against the base of a nearby statue.

"Feor!" Winter bent over her worriedly. Feor's eyes fluttered open, but she seemed to be having difficulty focusing. "Feor? Can you hear me?"

"I . . . can." Feor blinked.

"What happened? Are you all right?"

"I felt . . ." She sucked in a breath, then coughed. "Power. So much power . . ."

"Is it Onvidaer?"

"No," Feor said. "I have felt his naath many times. He is here, but this is different." She looked up, fear suddenly showing in her face. "I think it is your leader. The abh-naathem, the sorcerer. He has finally shown himself."

"The colonel?" Winter frowned. Maybe he doesn't need rescuing after all. "Come on. We've got to see what's going on."

They took a circuitous route, bypa.s.sing the mounds of formerly animated corpses where the Seventh's square had been. There were more flashes of light in the distance, and a sound like a giant ripping sailcloth. Feor flinched each time, though she didn't collapse again.

Hurrying around another of the weird, misshapen statues, Winter caught the gleam of distant light on dull metal. Feor pulled up short, dragging Winter to a halt. They had reached one of the walls of the cavern, and leaning against the dressed stone was a long row of enormous steel slabs, each taller than Winter and several inches thick. Their surface was covered with the densely packed curls of strange script incised deeply into the metal.

Feor sucked in her breath. "The Thousand Names," she said, very quietly. "We have guarded it since the time of the kings of Khandar. The naath are inscribed there, to be read by the faithful when Mother judges them worthy." There was a touch of awe in her voice. "I have only seen it once before, when I read my own naath."

"Where was that?"

"Another cave, in Ashe-Katarion. Even among the priesthood, few knew of it. The Redeemers tried to find it, but could not." She sounded uncertain. "Mother must have brought it here from the city."

Winter remembered a heavy cart rumbling toward the city gate on the day of the great fire, and nodded grimly.

"She warned us that the Church would stop at nothing to gain it," Feor said. "The minions of Orlanko have schemed against us for decades, and the Black Priests for centuries. They would take the power of the Names for themselves."

"I thought there were no more Black Priests," Winter muttered.

"They are hidden," Feor said, with dogmatic certainty. "But still powerful."

Something flashed nearby with another horrible gla.s.s-cutting whine. Feor spun.

"Onvi!"

She ran into the smoke, forcing Winter to hurry to keep close behind her. Statues loomed to either side, wraithlike and monstrous. Ahead, light flared, and as the mists parted, Winter grabbed Feor by the collar to keep her from sprinting right into the open.

Onvidaer stood in a fighting crouch, s.h.i.+fting his weight, ready to spring. Opposite him was a young woman it took Winter a moment to recognize-Jen Alhundt, the Ministry of Information liaison. What the h.e.l.l is she doing here? Everything she'd heard about Alhundt, in spite of her t.i.tle, said that she was a nonent.i.ty. And that she was sleeping with Captain d'Ivoire, though that hardly seemed relevant. But . . .

She was smiling, a toothy wolf's grin. And Onvidaer seemed wary. He feinted one way, then the other, then jumped almost straight up in a catlike pounce that took him over Alhundt's head. She slashed her right hand vertically, and a wave of distortion fanned out, pa.s.sing through s.p.a.ce like a ripple across the surface of still water but with a sound like it was tearing the air apart. Onvidaer somehow twisted in midair, and the surface of the thing missed him by inches. He reached for her, and Alhundt's other hand came up, palm out. A wall of sizzling white sparks crackled into being where the two were almost touching.

Some trick of momentum held them there for an instant, a perfect still life in the wildly s.h.i.+fting light of the effervescent pinp.r.i.c.ks. Then Onvidaer was hurled away. He struck one of the statues hard, his momentum tilting the stone giant into a slow but unstoppable fall. Onvidaer bounced away before it hit the ground, vanis.h.i.+ng amidst the grinding crunch of stone and clouds of billowing dust.

Alhundt's attention was elsewhere. Following her gaze, Winter caught sight of Captain d'Ivoire peeking out from behind another statue.

"I wondered where you'd gotten to," Alhundt said, turning toward him.

Winter managed to drag Feor back into cover before they were seen. The girl had gone stiff, her hands curled so tightly that her knuckles stood out as white spots under her gray skin.

"It was her," Feor said. "It was always her. Not your colonel. The minion of Orlanko." She screwed her eyes tight. "How could she hide what she is?"

"The Concordat are good at hiding," Winter said. "Listen. I saw the captain down there, and the colonel might be with him. There's got to be something we can do to help. Can Onvidaer beat her?"

"No." There were tears in Feor's eyes. "He is a brave fool to even try. She holds one of the Great Powers. We have not dared such an incantation in centuries. Not even Mother."

"What about . . ." Winter waved a hand, trying to take in Feor, the library of steel tablets, the cavern full of ancient mysteries. "There has to be something!"

"I cannot. I-"

The screech of another shower of sparks drew Winter's attention back to the battle. Onvidaer attacked Alhundt again, with as little effect as before, but the captain took advantage of the distraction to make a run for it. Winter could see another blue-uniformed figure with him. The colonel?

Alhundt spun. Another rippling wave flashed out, chopping a chimpanzee statue off at the knees. It toppled toward the two men, exploding into fragments somewhere between them and obscuring her view with a roiling cloud of dust.

"d.a.m.n it, Marcus!" Jen shouted.

She spun back toward Onvidaer, but he was on her before she could face him, crossing the flagstones separating them so fast he was a blur. His hand grabbed for hers an instant before the field of sparkling light appeared. The incandescent magic washed over him, but he managed to hang on, flapping away from her in the supernatural pull like a flag in a stiff breeze. Alhundt screamed and brought her other hand around in a wild swing. There was a horrible tearing sound, and blood sprayed across the flagstones in a wide arc. Onvidaer shot across the room, to land somewhere in the mists. Alhundt collapsed to her knees, cradling her wounded arm.

This time Winter wasn't fast enough. Feor darted beyond her reach, headed in the direction Onvidaer had flown. Winter spat a curse and followed.

a a a They found him where his flight had intersected with yet another statue. This one had had scorpion pincers, but not much else was apparent, since Onvidaer had hit it hard enough to blow the stone into a spray of a thousand fragments. Winter watched in stunned disbelief as the Khandarai youth struggled to his feet. Any normal man would have been the consistency of gruel after that impact, but Onvidaer didn't even seem bruised.

He wasn't entirely uninjured, however. Alhundt's swing had taken off his left arm, just below the shoulder, with as neat a cut as a surgeon had ever performed. He had his other hand pressed against the stump, but bright red blood was leaking between his fingers and dripping in a steady patter across the floor.

"Onvi!" Feor pulled up short as she realized what had happened. "Heavens above-what are you doing?"

He was getting down off the plinth, stumbling like a drunk, his previous grace gone. Winter stepped up behind Feor, who stared in wide-eyed horror.

"Going . . . to fight her," Onvidaer said. His breath was ragged. Up close, Winter could see he hadn't come through the collision entirely unscathed. His bare skin was covered in tiny lacerations, and a hundred small cuts wept blood. "Mother . . . wants her dead."

"Mother wanted me dead," Feor said. "You've done enough, haven't you?"

"You don't understand. She's one of them." He coughed. "The Black Priests. The minions of Orlanko. We can't let her have the Names."

"But you're not going to stop her!" Feor shouted. She was crying freely now. "You're just going to die. Onvi, you don't have to!"

He managed a brief smile. "Mother's . . . orders."

"Then why did you spare me?" Feor sobbed. "What was the point of . . . of anything?"

"Didn't have a choice." He shuffled closer, and Winter tensed, but he only bent awkwardly and kissed Feor on the forehead. It left a b.l.o.o.d.y smear. "Mother was wrong then. But she's . . . right this time."

"But-"

"Feor. Listen." He s.h.i.+fted his grip on the stump of his arm, blood falling like heavy rain. "I can't stop her. Maybe . . . hurt her. Distract her. A little longer. But you can." She met his eyes, and Winter could see something pa.s.s between them. "You understand?"

"But . . ." Feor glanced over her shoulder at Winter, then back at Onvidaer. "I understand."

"Good." He coughed again. "Take care. Little sister."

Then he was gone, running back toward Alhundt so fast there were yards between where one drop of blood splashed the floor and the next. Winter stood awkwardly behind Feor, not knowing what to say. The girl had her arms crossed over her stomach, head bowed, as if she wanted to shrink in on herself and disappear entirely. Winter tentatively put one hand on her shoulder, and Feor flinched at the contact. After a moment she relaxed and let her arms drop.

"Feor?" Winter said. "I didn't follow . . . all of that."

"He's gone to buy us some time," Feor said. There was the slightest tremor in her voice, held tightly in check.

"Time for what?"

"I can . . . help. We can." Feor looked up at Winter, her eyes still wet. The tears had cut clean lines through the grime and powder grit on her cheeks. "You wanted to help your colonel, didn't you? You trust him?"

Winter nodded uncertainly. Feor drew in a deep breath.

"Even if it's . . . dangerous?"

Winter nodded again. Feor wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging the grime across her face, and exhaled slowly.

"All right," she said. "Then come with me."

a a a They retraced their steps to the edge of the cavern, where the enormous steel tablets lay against the wall. Before, Feor had been filled with sacred reverence, reluctant to approach the things. Now she ran along the line, periodically stopping to stare at the lines of dense script. She stood on tiptoe, peering up into the gloom, then shook her head and moved on.

Finally, close to the end of the row of metal slabs, she stopped. One finger traced a long line of script, her mouth working silently. When she reached the end, she looked up at Winter.

"There's something here that can stop her. I think. It hasn't been used since long before I was born."

"Can you read it?" Winter said.

"It's not that simple," Feor said. "Naath are jealous things. Mine would not tolerate another power in my body, and the conflict would certainly kill me if I tried."

"But-" Then Winter got it. "You can't be serious."

Feor nodded grimly.

"But . . . me?" Winter shook her head. "I'm not a-a wizard, or anything like that. I don't even think I can read this!"

"Only those of us who have been trained can read it," Feor agreed. "But you don't have to. You only need to repeat what I say, exactly. Then, when we reach the end . . ." Feor's fingers ran across the marks on the tablet. "The last words of the spell are viir-en-talet. You have to remember that. I will guide you up to that point, and then you complete the naath yourself."

"And then what?"

"Then you can confront her." Feor looked away. "If you survive."

"Survive?"

"Naath are not for the weak. The power coils around your soul like a serpent, and those who are not strong enough may be crushed by its embrace. I think that you will be strong enough, but . . ."

"You're not certain."

Feor nodded, still not meeting Winter's eyes.

There was a long silence. From somewhere out in the mist came the shriek and rip of magic.

"Viir-en-talet," Winter said. "Am I p.r.o.nouncing that right?"

a a a "Sit down," Feor said, "and close your eyes."

Winter obeyed, resting against the cool surface of the metal. She leaned her head back and tried not to think.

"Repeat what I say. Do not open your eyes. And whatever happens, do not stop before you have said the final words. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Winter's mouth was suddenly dry.

"Very well."

Feor paused, then started to intone the odd words of the language of magic. She spoke slowly, emphasizing every syllable. There were no pauses or breaks, just a continuous stream of sound. Winter repeated each word a moment later. "Ibh-jal-yat-fen-loth-see-"

Suddenly she felt monumentally silly. It all seemed like an enormous practical joke, Feor's earnest voice running through volumes of nonsense words carved into steel by some long-ago shyster. Certainly Winter didn't feel anything, no more than she had at the Prison, repeating the Church hymns and prayers by rote.

If this doesn't work . . . If it didn't work, she had no idea what she would do. h.e.l.l, I don't know what happens if it does work. There was no kind of a plan. She was running through a fog, one hand waving blindly in front of her, hoping not to crash into anything solid.

Her thoughts had wandered. Winter hesitated, even as Feor went on. Was that "s.h.i.+" or "su"?

Pain lanced through her. Not the dull ache of her bruises or the hot agony from her side, not any of the fuzzy signals that reached her from the pile of meat, bone, and gristle that she called her body. This was sharp, silver pain on a level she'd never known existed, needles tearing into her essential self. It was everywhere at once-ripping at her stomach, clutching around her heart, driving in through the back of her skull-but she knew somehow that it was in none of those places.