“Chosa Dei,” Del answered promptly. “Now go unmake yourself—”
The voices faded again. Del and Chosa were gone.
Oh, hoolies, bascha—can’t you sing out again? Just to give me a little clue?
Chosa’s voice boomed loud; a trick of the tunnels again. “You will tell me the name, yes? While you still have both feet, both hands? While you still have both your breasts?”
I called him every name I could think of. But I did it silently.
Except for raspy breathing and echoing bootsteps as I ran.
Branch upon branch upon branch. But the light was growing brighter. The stench even more offensive. And Chosa Dei’s threats were imperative; I heard the whine and snarl of gathering hounds. The wheezing of a bellows.
Bellows?
Light slashed briefly through a crack in the tunnel wall, glinting off my blade. I stopped short, muttered a curse as sore muscles complained, put out my hand toward the crack. Warm air and smoke wisped through; that, and ruddy light.
I pressed myself against the wall, jamming my face into the crack. I saw light and fire and smoke; all three made my eye water. Tears ran down my face.
I swore, changed eyes, tried to see specifics.
Saw men tending a fire. Men tending a forge; Chosa Dei was playing at smith.
Rock bit into my forehead as I slumped against the wall. I couldn’t believe what I’d seen. Couldn’t trust my eyes. But a second look confirmed it: Chosa Dei had a forge. Men were tending a bellows. He had been stealing jivatmas, and now he wanted Del’s. So he could break free of the wards set by Shaka Obre.
Chosa Dei had more than a forge. He had a crucible. He was melting down jivatmas. Unmaking them, for their magic; to use for his own designs.
And now he wanted Boreal. Now he needed a banshee-storm and all the wild magic of the North in order to burst his bonds. To bring the mountain down so the dragon could fly again.
The voice came through the crack. “—was powerful, once. I can be again. But I need the wild magic. I have to restore myself; to banish diminishment, yes? To make myself whole again, so I can unmake my brother.”
Del’s answer was lost in the roar of newborn flame fanned into life by the bellows. I saw it sucked up, then out; saw it pass through the curtain that Del and I had faced. And at last I had my bearings.
Now all I had to do was find a way out of the tunnels and into the second chamber on the far side of the curtain.
Where I would do—what?
Hoolies, I don’t know. Cut Chosa’s gehetties off—if sorcerers have gehetties—and give them to Del as a trophy.
If she was alive to receive them.
If she was in one piece.
Hang on, Delilah. The Sandtiger’s on his w—
The hounds began to chorus.
Chosa Dei’s voice rose above it. “—can unsing any song. I can unmake any sword. Shall we try it, yes?”
—don’t let her die again—
Running. Stumbling. Swearing. Coughing in the smoke. Squinting against the light—light … hoolies, the tunnel floor was broken. The cracks were open fissures leading straight down into the chamber behind Shaka Obre’s wards.
I threw myself to the tunnel floor and stuck my head into one of the fissures. Held my breath against odor and smoke as tears sprang into my eyes. Blinked my vision clear; saw, in the instant before tears returned, the glint of Del’s jivatma. Saw the circle of beasts pressing close.
And Chosa Dei below me.
If I could drop my sword straight down, I could split his head like a melon.
Then again, I might miss. And give him another jivatma.
You can’t tell much about a man when all you can see of him is the top of his head and shoulders. Eyes will tell you a lot; so will expression and posture. I could see none of those things. Only dark hair and dark-swathed shoulders.
But I could see Del clearly.
She was completely ringed by beasts. Within the circle, she stood umoving; carefully, utterly still. In her arms was Boreal: diagonal slash from left to right, cutting across her breasts. Forgeglow lighted the steel. Wardglow turned it red.
Del could change the color. She only had to sing.
But Chosa Dei could unsing her songs. Del had no weapon to use.
Leaving me with mine.
Hoolies, what do I do?
Chosa Dei spoke again. “Shall I show you how I unmake a man? How I remake him into a beast?”
Del said nothing.
“Yes, I think I shall.”
Transfixed, I stared in disbelief. Del stood imprisoned by hounds, helpless to stop the sorcerer. Thus free to do as he wanted, Chosa Dei called over one of the men who tended the forge and dismissed the other three. The fourth one knelt, and Chosa put hands on his head.
Part of me screamed at the man to escape, to pull away, to get free of Chosa Dei. But he did none of those things. He just knelt in silence, staring blankly, as Chosa put hands on him.