But a sharply indrawn breath told me otherwise and after another few heartbeats she continued.
“With this burnt iron in my chest I . . . could . . . not stop them completely. But I locked the shekatudor, the . . . the stone’s soul, against them . . . prevented them from persuasion.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You probably saved my life.” I had wondered why the cultists hadn’t used the stone against me as Qethar had in our battle. Now I knew.
“My cave, my dorak-ki, my rule.” Despite her lack of air, these words came out hard and cold—absolute, a queen speaking from the heart of her power.
She coughed then, a deep tearing sound, and more blood leaked out around the head of the spear.
“You must . . . remove this.” She pointed her finger at her chest.
“It will kill you.”
“Almost certainly”—another cough—“but I will not die with this . . . accursed spike pinning me like . . . some . . . filthy slink. Do it.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
I stood and walked around behind the throne. The spear had a heavy barbed head like the harpoons monster hunters used when going after gryphon or other ferocious prey. Pulling it backward would tear Krithak’s heart out, if I could even get it to come out that way. The back of the throne seemed to have closed around the shaft—probably to keep Krithak from bleeding out. I’d seen Durkoth fashion bandages from stone before.
“I can’t make it gentle,” I said. “But I can make it fast.”
“Do it.”
The spear was short—probably for weight reasons, as it was solid iron from haft to tip—with no more than four feet sticking out of her back. I positioned myself carefully, took a deep breath, and then spun to the side, kicking the end of the shaft with the heel of my foot. It drove the spear forward the better part of three feet, and my second kick finished the job on that side. Four quick steps took me around to the front, where I grabbed the blood-slick shaft just below the head.
Triss, give me a hand here.
Of course.
He slid down and interposed himself between my hand and the barb of the spear. With one fast move I wrenched the spear the rest of the way out of Krithak’s chest. A flood of rich purple blood followed it, and Krithak’s head slumped.
I was sure she was gone then, but again I’d underestimated her toughness, and she somehow lifted her chin once more, holding her head high as the stuff of her seat flowed up and over her, encasing her in a second skin of pink stone. Pores in the surface opened up and somehow pulled all the blood inside, leaving the marble pure and unstained.
I left her then, looking much as she had when I arrived—an unfinished statue of a beautiful queen. Tomb, monument, and death mask all in one package. The spear I threw into the pool with the corpses.
Then, painfully, and with a lot of help from Triss, I forced my nose back into its proper shape. As I waited out the worst aftereffects, I had time to think about how things had gone since Siri came back into my life, from the whatsis to the Durkoth, and how much harder the latter had hit me.
When I mentioned that to Triss, he sent,
It’s always easier to fight a stupid foe than a smart one, no matter how powerful the former. Now, we should get moving. We don’t want to leave Faran alone with Thuroq for too long.
I nodded and forced myself back to my feet.
True.
As we made our way back to the entrance of the cavern, he sent,
There’s much to think about in what the Uthudor had to say.
And even more that I wish she’d been able to share. Perhaps we can learn more from Thuroq.
Why do I not believe it will be so simple?
Because nothing ever is,
I replied.
Not since the temple fell, no.
Which was not something I wanted to talk about. Fortunately, a perfect change of subject presented itself at that moment as the light in the cave began to dim.
Triss, is it me or are the lights going out?
It’s not you. The process started
“With this burnt iron in my chest I . . . could . . . not stop them completely. But I locked the shekatudor, the . . . the stone’s soul, against them . . . prevented them from persuasion.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You probably saved my life.” I had wondered why the cultists hadn’t used the stone against me as Qethar had in our battle. Now I knew.
“My cave, my dorak-ki, my rule.” Despite her lack of air, these words came out hard and cold—absolute, a queen speaking from the heart of her power.
She coughed then, a deep tearing sound, and more blood leaked out around the head of the spear.
“You must . . . remove this.” She pointed her finger at her chest.
“It will kill you.”
“Almost certainly”—another cough—“but I will not die with this . . . accursed spike pinning me like . . . some . . . filthy slink. Do it.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
I stood and walked around behind the throne. The spear had a heavy barbed head like the harpoons monster hunters used when going after gryphon or other ferocious prey. Pulling it backward would tear Krithak’s heart out, if I could even get it to come out that way. The back of the throne seemed to have closed around the shaft—probably to keep Krithak from bleeding out. I’d seen Durkoth fashion bandages from stone before.
“I can’t make it gentle,” I said. “But I can make it fast.”
“Do it.”
The spear was short—probably for weight reasons, as it was solid iron from haft to tip—with no more than four feet sticking out of her back. I positioned myself carefully, took a deep breath, and then spun to the side, kicking the end of the shaft with the heel of my foot. It drove the spear forward the better part of three feet, and my second kick finished the job on that side. Four quick steps took me around to the front, where I grabbed the blood-slick shaft just below the head.
Triss, give me a hand here.
Of course.
He slid down and interposed himself between my hand and the barb of the spear. With one fast move I wrenched the spear the rest of the way out of Krithak’s chest. A flood of rich purple blood followed it, and Krithak’s head slumped.
I was sure she was gone then, but again I’d underestimated her toughness, and she somehow lifted her chin once more, holding her head high as the stuff of her seat flowed up and over her, encasing her in a second skin of pink stone. Pores in the surface opened up and somehow pulled all the blood inside, leaving the marble pure and unstained.
I left her then, looking much as she had when I arrived—an unfinished statue of a beautiful queen. Tomb, monument, and death mask all in one package. The spear I threw into the pool with the corpses.
Then, painfully, and with a lot of help from Triss, I forced my nose back into its proper shape. As I waited out the worst aftereffects, I had time to think about how things had gone since Siri came back into my life, from the whatsis to the Durkoth, and how much harder the latter had hit me.
When I mentioned that to Triss, he sent,
It’s always easier to fight a stupid foe than a smart one, no matter how powerful the former. Now, we should get moving. We don’t want to leave Faran alone with Thuroq for too long.
I nodded and forced myself back to my feet.
True.
As we made our way back to the entrance of the cavern, he sent,
There’s much to think about in what the Uthudor had to say.
And even more that I wish she’d been able to share. Perhaps we can learn more from Thuroq.
Why do I not believe it will be so simple?
Because nothing ever is,
I replied.
Not since the temple fell, no.
Which was not something I wanted to talk about. Fortunately, a perfect change of subject presented itself at that moment as the light in the cave began to dim.
Triss, is it me or are the lights going out?
It’s not you. The process started
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