The Warslayer(55)

It was the pendant the monster had been wearing, the one she'd dropped. In all the confusion, she'd forgotten about it until now.

"Yah!" Without thinking, Glory swatted it out of his hand. It went skittering across the floor.

Ivradan cowered back, terrified, and all her good work was undone.

"No— Wait, look, Ivradan, I'm sorry," Glory said quickly. "But that is very bad magic. It was around the neck of a monster I killed. It's Her magic."

Ivradan stared down at it in horror, and then at his hands. "I touched it," he said in a frightened whisper.

You aren't making things better.

"Well, I don't reckon it can do anything in here," Glory said hastily. "It was glowing when the critter was wearing it, but when I brought it in here, it stopped glowing. I forgot about it until now."

Ivradan was staring at her as if she'd just grown another head.

You FORGOT about it? Are you listening to yourself, Gloria Emmeline McArdle?

"Bring it here," Belegir said. His voice was stronger now.

Glory went over and picked it up—by the cord, she still wasn't going to touch it without a damned good reason—and carried it over to Belegir. The Allimir girl who was tending him backed away as if Glory were radioactive.

Glory knelt beside Belegir, holding the pendant toward him gingerly. She was a little bit shocked to see him grasp the pendant itself as if it were nothing much out of the ordinary, holding it up close to his good eye.

"You say the creature was wearing this?"

"I didn't see it until I searched the body. But it glowed. Blue. And after I took it off him, it . . . tried to get away, so I stuck it to the ground with one of my stakes while I went looking for the horses." She looked at Belegir. "I forgot about it," she said defensively. "I was going to show it to you. It stuck, sort of, in the doorway, and when I pulled it through, it popped, and then it stopped glowing. And then the horses were getting away, and well, I just forgot about it. . . ." she finished lamely.

"This is very bad," Belegir said. "Far worse than I'd feared, if She is twisting our own magic against us. As we have Called you to us to be our Defender, so She must have Called others to be her allies. The creature will have used this to Call the animals out to it in the night. If we had not slumbered in Erchane's embrace, we would have fallen prey to its foul casting as well."

There was a murmur of frightened agreement from the others.

Glory sighed in exasperation. "Yes, but Belegir, what does it mean? Is this blue stuff some kind of voodoo? What?"

"She uses it to enslave the will of lesser creatures and bend them to Her will, as well as lending them Her power," Belegir said. "As our magic is a link to Erchane, so this—and others like it—is a link to Her. You must destroy it," he finished firmly.

"Just promise me it doesn't involve a long trip to the top of an active volcano," Glory muttered grumpily.

"No. Nothing so distant. You must drop it into the Oracle's spring."

"But— Crikey, Bel, don't you reckon Erchane'll mind?" Glory sputtered, nonplussed.

"It must be done," Belegir said somberly. "If it is removed from the Temple it will come to life once more, and She will know all that has been done here."

"Well, we can't have that, now, can we? But d'you reckon it could wait until after breakfast?" Glory said hopefully.

"Yes. Of course. And you must let Tavara tend your injury, so that it does not grow poisoned," Belegir told her.

Tavara was the Allimir girl who had been seeing to Belegir—shy as a fawn she was, but judged against Belegir, all of the Allimir commonfolk were timid little things, ill-at-ease with the magic that Belegir lived with as a matter of course and that even Glory had come to take for granted. With trembling fingers, the girl peeled away Glory's makeshift bandage. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of the gashes, though Glory was relieved to see they didn't look much worse than they had yesterday.

"You should see the other guy," Glory said encouragingly.

Tavara blushed hotly, too tongue-tied to speak, but her movements were quick and deft as she cleaned away the greasy salve and carefully prodded the flesh around the gouges.

"The wound is clean," she pronounced. "It will heal well." From one of the containers at her side she took a small handful of greenish dough, first rolling it into a ball, then working it into a thick patch big enough to cover the whole area. This she bound into place with a long strip of what looked like homespun linen. "You must leave this in place until it is dry. When it begins to itch, then you may take it off." She sounded as stern as a Public Health Nurse, and Glory stifled a smile.