The Warslayer(15)

Ah, well. Likely they've seen a naked sheila in their time, Glory thought philosophically. And as for you, gel, do try to remember that you AREN'T a superhero. You just play one on telly. You keep trying stunts like this and someone's going to prove it to you sure.

When she got back to the riders, Belegir came forward to meet her. He looked desperately afraid—and guilty, like a man who knew too much about what had just happened.

"Something got your stallion. Skinned it like a rabbit," she added brutally.

Belegir winced. "She toys with us," he said mournfully. "But you—you would have remonstrated with her." He gazed at her in wonder, as though running into the night half-cocked was right up there with Gallipoli.

"You're not right in the head," Glory told him simply. She turned away and headed for her wagon. She'd been thinking before that the Allimir had just been spooked by a run of bad luck, but now she wasn't so sure.

Belegir followed her, babbling like a man who hopes he won't be asked hard questions. "Does this mean . . . ? You've said you would help us, but it isn't right that you should face such peril as this without— We must go to the Oracle at once, as soon as it is light—we must discover Erchane's will in this before something bad happens to you."

"Something bad's already happened," Glory said, stopping. But it wasn't her, it was Vixen who turned back and smiled at him, lips stretched back in a mocking grin.

"Sure, I'll go see your oracle," she drawled. "And then I'm going to find whatever was out there tonight and peel it like a onion. If you're a good boy, I'll let you help."

Belegir uttered a small dismayed bleat and reached out as if to soothe her.

Vixen smiled. "Aw, c'mon, Belegir. You wanna live forever?"





CHAPTER TWO:

Earth and Sky

Glory didn't even try to get back to sleep after that. She pulled on her jeans and her sneakers and her sweatshirt and sat in the doorway of the wagon, her feet on the ground, clutching Gordon and doing her best to deal, as Christina might have put it.

This hallucinatory world was still here, and she was still in it. Her faint hopes of waking up back in her own life were gone. She was stuck here for the duration, and the Allimir's problems seemed somehow more immediate now than they had before she'd seen the slaughtered stallion. She was going to have to solve them—or someone was, and the Allimir didn't look like being the ones to do it.

Item: they'd gone looking for a hero to save them from a bogeyman who'd taken down their entire civilization and was now hunting them slowly to extinction—horse by horse, if tonight's attack was any clue. Helevrin had said She was toying with them. Glory'd discounted that as empty rhetoric at the time, but it seemed more reasonable now. And that meant their monster was a smart monster, able to think and plan and not gulp its pleasures.

That wasn't good.

Item: the Allimir mages had gone looking for a hero to slay their monster, and had come up dry. They'd come to her. She'd explained their mistake (where had Englor gotten a copy of the Cox book anyway?) and they'd been going to leave without her, only something had gone wrong with that and she'd ended up back here with them by accident. After all she'd seen, Glory couldn't believe they'd lied to her about that. She didn't think the Allimir could lie, any more than they seemed to be able to stand up for themselves.

And that was odd, wasn't it? But she didn't have enough information to give the matter proper consideration, and there were a lot of other things that seemed much more important right now—like Belegir's plan to take her to the Oracle (whatever that was) to find out what to do next.

He'd said—or at least implied—that this Oracle had the power to send her home, which would probably be best all round, but she wasn't completely comfortable with the notion. She was the Allimir's last hope. They'd been really clear about that. And while she wasn't much of a hero, they were obviously doing a piss-poor job of coping on their own.

Around her, in the predawn darkness, the encampment slowly roused to greet a new day. She could hear the murmur of low voices from the nearer wagons as the word of this latest disaster spread, and listlessly the Allimir drifted together, clustering around their central fire.

"Slayer, are you all right?" Englor asked.

Glory yelped. He'd come around the back of the vardo, quiet as mice, and she hadn't seen him. He jumped back, gazing around himself wildly for the source of her distress.

"I was," she growled. It was Vixen again—Vixen's attitude, Vixen's dialogue—and Glory cringed inwardly. Being Vixen felt too much like lying, and she didn't want to lie to these people.

"I brought you something to drink." In each hand, he held one of the leather quart-jacks. Steam rose from them. She took one and sipped cautiously. Hot spiced beer. Not bad, though not what she'd choose to replace morning coffee with.