to death to know where all the food in the Keep is. Govannin will block it, and they'll start fighting over whether the Keep needs all those nonwarriors.”
Alde looked at her reproachfully. “Has anyone ever told you that your logic is appalling?”
Gil grinned in the dusk. “Why do you think I never got married?” She stopped, catching Alde 's arm to make her halt also. But the sound she'd heard had only been the sigh of wind, rubbing bare branches in the icy cold. She was aware that it was suddenly very dark. They went on, quickening their pace.
“There,” she said as they rounded a curve in the slushy road. Far off against the black flank of the mountains, a square of reddish light was visible. “They'll have built fires around the doors and left them open.”
“They can't do that!” Alde protested. “It's against Keep Law! If the Dark came in force…”
“It means they know you're gone,” Gil said quietly and glanced up at the leaden sky. On either side of the road, the trees had faded into misty darkness, forming a murky cathedral through whose endless mazes of dark pillars an occasional black-flecked beech shone like silver in the gloom. The last fading of the daylight would leave them walking almost blindly.
“But Tir's in there,” Alde insisted. It was like her, Gil thought wryly, to think of her child before her own safety. “Alwir should have…”
“Oh, come on,” Gil said roughly. “Do you really think he would?” She stopped again, this time certain. She could feel it in her veins, a rush of electricity that had very little fear in it. Gooseflesh rose on her arras. Like the breath of agelong night, she felt the restless stirring of air on her cheek.
She sensed a movement in the air above; but looking up, she saw only the blackness of clouds. Yet she felt something in the shadows, haunting the snowy darkness with malignant watchfulness. In the utter silence, the faint ringing of her drawn sword seemed very loud.
“There!” Alde whispered. Gil swung around and saw the drift of darkness like a ghost above the snow. Sinuous, inhuman, it flickered into brief visibility and was gone. Without being certain why she did so, Gil turned and glimpsed something—the suggestion of anomalous motion, the flick of snow swirling against the drift of the breeze—to their right. But it faded, like a word whispered into darkness.
Then something dropped from the dark air above, something that splattered acid from a monstrous mouth to melt the snow in stinging rain, something that stank of blood and darkness. Gil's sword whined faintly, a blur of razor-bright steel cleaving the sooty protoplasm and dousing them both in a stream of foul and gritty black water that gushed from the wound. She saw the creature now as it swung through the air, a formless darkness that grew as it moved, the catch of crustaceous pincers and the long, sudden slash of a spined tail, coiling like a whip and thicker than a man's forearm. She hacked downward, severing six feet of that thrashing cable, which began at once to disintegrate. Like a howling storm of silence, the creature turned on her, the dripping tentacles of its mouth reaching out for her, an eldritch, all-swallowing cloud of night. She slashed into the darkness, stepping into the slimy welter of beating membranes and knowing, the instant before her sword cleaved the thing, that she had it and had it clean. Then the sticky remnants of the severed creature were streaming and folding messily around her like wet, dissolving sheets in the wind. The snow around them stank. Alde started to get up from the ground, where she had very sensibly thrown herself to give Gil a clear field. Her face was dead white under the bloody slime, but calm.
“No,” Gil said softly, “stay down.” Without a word, Minalde obeyed. Nothing moved in the darkness, but Gil felt the chill presence of the Dark still. Above the foetor of the mucky snow around them, she smelled the sharper odor of
Alde looked at her reproachfully. “Has anyone ever told you that your logic is appalling?”
Gil grinned in the dusk. “Why do you think I never got married?” She stopped, catching Alde 's arm to make her halt also. But the sound she'd heard had only been the sigh of wind, rubbing bare branches in the icy cold. She was aware that it was suddenly very dark. They went on, quickening their pace.
“There,” she said as they rounded a curve in the slushy road. Far off against the black flank of the mountains, a square of reddish light was visible. “They'll have built fires around the doors and left them open.”
“They can't do that!” Alde protested. “It's against Keep Law! If the Dark came in force…”
“It means they know you're gone,” Gil said quietly and glanced up at the leaden sky. On either side of the road, the trees had faded into misty darkness, forming a murky cathedral through whose endless mazes of dark pillars an occasional black-flecked beech shone like silver in the gloom. The last fading of the daylight would leave them walking almost blindly.
“But Tir's in there,” Alde insisted. It was like her, Gil thought wryly, to think of her child before her own safety. “Alwir should have…”
“Oh, come on,” Gil said roughly. “Do you really think he would?” She stopped again, this time certain. She could feel it in her veins, a rush of electricity that had very little fear in it. Gooseflesh rose on her arras. Like the breath of agelong night, she felt the restless stirring of air on her cheek.
She sensed a movement in the air above; but looking up, she saw only the blackness of clouds. Yet she felt something in the shadows, haunting the snowy darkness with malignant watchfulness. In the utter silence, the faint ringing of her drawn sword seemed very loud.
“There!” Alde whispered. Gil swung around and saw the drift of darkness like a ghost above the snow. Sinuous, inhuman, it flickered into brief visibility and was gone. Without being certain why she did so, Gil turned and glimpsed something—the suggestion of anomalous motion, the flick of snow swirling against the drift of the breeze—to their right. But it faded, like a word whispered into darkness.
Then something dropped from the dark air above, something that splattered acid from a monstrous mouth to melt the snow in stinging rain, something that stank of blood and darkness. Gil's sword whined faintly, a blur of razor-bright steel cleaving the sooty protoplasm and dousing them both in a stream of foul and gritty black water that gushed from the wound. She saw the creature now as it swung through the air, a formless darkness that grew as it moved, the catch of crustaceous pincers and the long, sudden slash of a spined tail, coiling like a whip and thicker than a man's forearm. She hacked downward, severing six feet of that thrashing cable, which began at once to disintegrate. Like a howling storm of silence, the creature turned on her, the dripping tentacles of its mouth reaching out for her, an eldritch, all-swallowing cloud of night. She slashed into the darkness, stepping into the slimy welter of beating membranes and knowing, the instant before her sword cleaved the thing, that she had it and had it clean. Then the sticky remnants of the severed creature were streaming and folding messily around her like wet, dissolving sheets in the wind. The snow around them stank. Alde started to get up from the ground, where she had very sensibly thrown herself to give Gil a clear field. Her face was dead white under the bloody slime, but calm.
“No,” Gil said softly, “stay down.” Without a word, Minalde obeyed. Nothing moved in the darkness, but Gil felt the chill presence of the Dark still. Above the foetor of the mucky snow around them, she smelled the sharper odor of
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