[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]him into a quick trot. The others rode off on whatever errands they were
pursuing before she interrupted them.
Soon she heard a growling muted thunder that brought a vivid memory to her of
the placid days following the herds on Jaydugar. They topped a rise and looked
down on a black, moving mass that crept across the rolling land at a slow
walk. For an instant she saw them as the ugly armor-plated beasts that the
nomads lived off, then she blinked and pulled the corners of her mouth down,
jerked back to reality. What darkened the earth was hundreds, thousands of
riders, sex indeterminate from this distance.
As her captor plunged into the mob Aleytys felt a sense of helplessness and
frustration. One person to turn this this avalanche of humanity? She looked
around, curiosity flaring, dominating for a time her growing anxiety. Women as
wild and unkempt as the men stared at her, hate strong and cold in their flat
weathered faces. Children rode by, sitting bareback on their shaggy little
animals, their faces old and evil. She blinked. Not evil, just wild. It was
the distortion in her that changed them into small demons rather than the
children they were. She turned away.
With the shriek and rumble of the crude wooden wheels, the multitude of other
sounds blending into one vast cacophony of ear-splitting noise dinning in her
ears, beating through her head, Aleytys found it difficult to think, to know
what she wanted to do or should do or could do, so she let her tired brain
idle, sat slouched in the saddle, hands holding onto the saddle horn, enduring
the punishing pitch and roll of the roan s gait.
In the center of the mass they came to an impossibly wide wagon whose flat
bed clung with equal impossibility to the contours of the land it crept
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across. The wood was jointed by dozens of flexible leather hinges, each small
section mounted on individual wheels so that the whole moved over the land
like a multi-legged creature on hundreds of wheels. Around the sides of this
monstrous construction was a hedge of swords, edges glinting in the diffused
light. Inside the hedge rose a rounded mound the size of a small hill whose
outermost layer was pihayo hide tanned with the hair left on so that the mound
fluttered with what looked like limp white grass.
As they rode nearer, the typical stench of the pihayo soured the air. Aleytys
wondered how the horde master managed to stand the smell of his dwelling.
She stiffened as they passed one of the last wagons near the great one. The
somber black caravan with its glinting gold and crimson scrollwork confirmed
for the first time that Maissa had indeed been brought here. Whether she was
alive& or Sharl& . She wrenched her thoughts away as her hands began to tremble
and tears hung poised to fall behind her eyelids. Concentrate, she thought.
You are gikena. You have power.
She straightened her back and looked boldly at the pair of guards barring the
gate to the master s wagon. Make them respect you, she told herself& at least&
she broke into the argument being conducted in the slurred nearly
unintelligible dialect of the horde.
I am gikena. She projected the words with a potent overlay of anger,
menace, and power that left both guards and her captor open-mouthed. She slid
off the horse and stepped briskly up the crude ladder to confront the startled
guards. Take me to the master.
Chapter V
The stench was incredible. Aleytys found it difficult to think, difficult to
do anything but breath as shallowly as possible, blessing the tendency of the
sense of smell to burn out fast. She gathered her strength, stilled the
trembling of her knees, and snapped her head erect.
The master was a pallid mountain of flesh perched on miscellaneous hides
spread over a spongy mass of some kind of vegetable fiber. Aleytys dragged her
eyes back to the master, fighting a continual urge to look away from him. He
was naked. As grossly male as he was grossly huge. Aleytys suppressed an
inclination to gape and contented herself with wondering what sort of woman
could receive that bulk into herself.
Reluctantly she raised her eyes to his face. His head was outsize even for
the mountainous bulk that supported it. If he stood his head must nearly brush
the rounded top of the tent where the groaning ribs were tied together by a
complex knotting of smoke-stained rope, though that point was nearly three
meters from the spongy floor. He must never leave this place, she thought.
Ahai, Madar! Never to leave this hole! She examined his face again, a tinge of
pity overlaying the disgust he raised in her.
His mouth was firm and delicate, even beautiful, showing a strong tendency
toward smiling. His nose was strong, a long straight blade of bone and flesh.
His eyes, dark fringed and well-shaped, were milky white without iris or
pupil, ostensibly blind, though he seemed to be aware of everything around
him. This eyeless sight sent shudders running up her spine, the first
intimation of the nature of the horde master. If this creature had power that
could swallow hers& she remembered the diadem and quieted.
His hair was pure pale white, curling closely about his bulging skull. The
skull& it swelled out from the gentle, even beautiful face& like the bottom of
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a pear turned upside down& the thick coiling hair masked some of the
grotesqueness of its shape, but not enough. Not enough.
The silence stretched on and on. Aleytys refused to be intimidated, either by
her own emotions or by the aura of the man.
A thin meager figure came creeping around from behind the master, swinging a
censer with black, strong smelling smoke pouring from the holes pierced in the
top. Muttering a guttural chant he circled her, throwing the smoke into her
face, letting it roll over her skin. She stood, unmoving, a scornful smile
mocking his efforts.
Then the drag began to blur her sight, distort her senses. She swayed. Fought
her way upright. Then met the glittering eyes of the shaman, his ferret face
wreathed in clouds of the drugs smoke.
Closing her eyes, she fumbled for the black river, fighting back panic as her
mind-reach dissolved again and again. Terror was cold& cold& cold& paralyzing.
Then she managed to shape Vajd s mandala of peace, simple, pure, the circling
triangles drawing her in and out of the center until terror retreated, faded,
was gone. She gathered her forces and sank into the mandala, the stable
three-pointed figures swimming past her, calm& smooth& untroubled& .
Relaxed, calm, quietly sure of her power, she reached again. The black water
spilled over her. With an exclamation of triumph she lifted her arms above her
head, glorying in the racing current of power caressing her skin, cleansing
her body of the greasy smoke, flushing the drug from her system, leaving her
mind clear and sharp. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and laughed
aloud. I am gikena!
As she faced the horde master with her new clarity of vision, she saw that
his facade of power was hollow; it had a rotten dying smell, a taint of decay.
Is this why the horde moves? she wondered. Because the master dies? She set
the thought aside to pursue later. I am gikena, she repeated. She focused
cool denying eyes on him. Out there you have what belongs to me.
All here is mine. The master spoke for the first time, his voice startling
her with its flexible resonant beauty. When she closed her eyes she could see
him tall, triumphant, even handsome. Grimly she faced him and rubbed aching
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