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her off and on, she probed further into the cavity.
Cold metal stung a hand. Cautiously, she pulled the object out. A knife. In a
worn leather sheath.  How& 
She pulled the knife from the sheath, touched her fingers against the cutting
edge. Kale? Maissa? Stavver? She turned it over in her hands. Maissa? Why
would she? The knife wasn t her weapon. Miks? He had his own knife, had it
with him. Not Miks. That left Kale. But he had a knife too. Aleytys remembered
him turning it over and over in his hands& She held the hilt up to the light.
There was a tiny engraved figure nearly worn away. A wolfs head. She pinched
her lips together. Kale. Before Maissa painted the fakes on& she ran a thumb
thoughtfully over the small roughness& wolfs heads on his cheeks. Why?
Well. Only Kale could answer that. Aleytys shrugged and pulled herself up,
her joints stiff from kneeling so long. She dropped the knife beside Sharl s
nearly cleaned diapers and slid the drawer shut. The panel went back in place
somewhat more easily than it came out.
Sucking a pinched finger, she settled beside Maissa. The stone walls around
the city ahead were a dark mass against the sky. Another half hour& she worked
the reins from Maissa s hands and wound them around the cleat. The horses kept
plodding ahead, ignoring the lack of guidance, swept along by the horde around
them.
Aleytys put her shoulder into Maissa s stomach and heaved. With the slight
body wrapped around her neck she staggered into the caravan. After stretching
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Maissa on the bunk, she tied pieces of rope around her arms and legs, then
used two other sections of rope to anchor hands and feet to the ends of the
bunk.
She bent over Maissa.  That ll keep you out of the city, Captain. She shook
her head.  You could ve been killed yesterday. Then where would we all be?
She patted Maissa s shoulder and went back outside.
Chapter XI
It all happened again. The dying. The burning. The toppling minaret. The
drums and chanting. And the sleep-coma.
Aleytys slipped off the bunk and stretched, working out the kinks that came
from sitting still too long. She bent over Maissa frowning at the deep bloody
bruises where the maddened woman had tried to tear free from the ropes. She
touched the knots, frown lines deepening.  Later, Captain. When we get out of
this mess.
She touched Sharl briefly, inspected the padding that held him tightly. The
ride out would be rough. She plucked at the quilting. No time to get him in a
sling. This would have to do. She pushed the drawer nearly shut.
The blue steel blade of the knife shimmered like silk on the coarse ticking
of the mattress. She threaded a piece of rope through a loop in the top of the
sheath, then shoved the knife home. After tying the ends together in a neat
square knot she slipped the loop over her head and one shoulder so that the
knife hung beside her hip. Before leaving the caravan she tapped her temple,
smiling at the sound of the chime.  Be ready, Rider. When it starts we ll have
to be fast. A second chime answered her and sent her laughing out the back.
She glanced around. A few sleeping figures slumped around the caravan, very
few of them to the east. Before starting for the master s wagon she stared out
at the rippling rise of land.  See you, Miks. Soon.
The hard-gaited roan stamped impatiently. Aleytys eyed him with distaste.
 Boneshaker old friend. She sighed, pulled the reins loose and swung up on
his back. She settled herself in the saddle and swung the animal around,
keeping him at a slow walk as she circled toward the master s wagon. The big
horse picked his way delicately through the carelessly tumbled figures who lay
sunk in a sleep so deep it verged on coma. They had to circle wide to avoid
places where the sleepers lay packed so closely the horse would refuse to go
on.
When they reached the wagon she slid off his back and tied the reins in a
half-hitch in a ring dangling among others beneath the back edge of the wagon.
 All right, Rider, she murmured.  Now s the time to do your trick.
The diadem chimed. As the several notes ran downscale to a basso growl she
felt the influence again spread through her body. She swung onto the wagon and
pushed recklessly through the circle of guards knocking them down like slow
motion pins. Her body plunged into the tent.
The master sat with his head resting on his hands, elbows on knees, the boy
sitting in front of him echoing his posture. The shaman stood bent over beside
the boy staring intently into his face.
Black eyes glinted, narrowed and thoughtful, in Aleytys mind. It seemed to
her they smiled briefly at her& somehow& then turned back to measure what must
be done. Then her body leaped forward.
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The knife was in her hand. Her free hand grabbed a handful of springy white
curls, hauled the master s head up. The knife slashed once, twice through the
neck. Then a third time. Then the boy. His throat was thinner. Much thinner.
Her hand lowered the head onto the floor between thin legs. Finally the
shaman. He started to topple as her hand jerked his head up. The knife slashed
twice and the body fell, cut loose from the head. Her hand loosed its grip on
the head, then her body wheeled and ran from the tent, through the still
falling guards, trampling on flesh and wood indiscriminately. Her body leaped
from the wagon onto the horse, snatched the reins loose, and sent the roan
back through the sleepers.
Aleytys felt a strain behind her eyes that grew and grew. Breath sobbing into
her body in great gasps, she kicked her heels into the roan s sides, driving
him across the cold bodies, slipping, sliding, struggling to keep his feet as
he rushed headlong toward the caravan.
A moan whispered across her brain. The low rumble celerated upward and the
tightness went away. She shook her head, dashing away the fragments of
possession from her brain. Around her the horde creatures were stumbling to
their feet, a dazed uncertainty in their faces. Muttering incoherently they
took a few steps in one direction, then turned another way, bumping into each
other to stand motionless the moment they were in physical contact, then
twitching away again in a frenetic outburst of movement.
Aleytys forced the roan through them across the half-kilometer between the
master s wagon and her caravan. Fumbling hands clutched at her legs, then
moved away, clutched at the bridle only to forget what they were doing,
clutched at the horse until the roan s speed threw most of them off. She
kicked the others away.
At the caravan she leaped recklessly for the driver s bench, snatched at the
reins as she tumbled past them.  Hi-ya! she shrieked, slapping the reins hard
against the horses rumps, startling them into a run.
Aleytys nearly fell off before she managed to seat herself. She screamed
again at the team. The caravan leaped, bounded, threatened to overturn,
teetering precariously as it rumbled over confused horde beings. Somehow it
stayed upright. The roan ran free behind the caravan, head held high and to
one side to keep the dangling reins from under his feet.
They raced across the bumpy flat outside the city and rolled onto a winding
rutted road that led vaguely eastward. Aleytys let the team settle to a rapid
trot and managed to look behind.
There was no pursuit. She couldn t even see the town anymore. It was down
behind a fold of earth. There were no sounds nothing except the harsh grinding
of the wheels and the rattle of the hooves. She saw the roan stumble then [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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