A Gathering Of Stones

7

She was a seal in water, agile and slippery; she cast off whatever burden it was that kept her short-tempered and turned playful. Danny drifted in a corner, of the bath, smiling a little as he watched her splash and sputter, dive under and come shooting up with Ailiki in her arms, sending waves of herb-scented water washing at him. She seemed hardly older than the child he remembered. The water rocked him gently, warming away his aches and much of his weariness without sinking him into lethargy; it was the efferves-

cence that did it, the clouds of tiny bubbles that went rushing past his body like pinhead fists kneading and energizing him. He found it extraordinarily pleasant, the more so since he’d reached a temporary peace with himself. His mind was at rest, leaving his body to tend itself.

Kori came paddling over to him, hooked her arms over the bathsill; her freckles shimmered in the lanternlight, her eyes were the color of the water, her hair was slicked back though tiny curls had escaped the mass to make a frizzy halo about her thin face. “Feeling better?”

“Mmm.” He reached out, brushed a fingertip across a dimple. “You don’t look a day older than that girl in the cart.”

“Am.” With an urchin grin, she skimmed her hand lightly up his chest, then flicked water into his face.

Before he could, react, a voice like icewind cut through the tendrils of steam. “Look up, you l’hy’foor!”

Korimenei levered herself up and over the bathsill, sprang to her feet. And froze.

A woman stood at the end of the pool, a taut, dark figure wreathed in steam with a short recurve bow held at stretch, one arrow nocked, a second held by the notch end between two fingers. She vibrated like a tuning fork with a rage that was on the raw edge of erupting.

Danny floated in his corner without trying to move. “Felsrawg,” he said softly, “I should have known.”

A stocky man came from the dressing room. “It’s not in his clothes or hers.” He inspected Korimenei. “What’s that she’s got round her neck?”

“Simms,” Danny said, “that’s nothing to do with you. You can see it’s not Klukesharna.”

Felsrawg drew in a breath; it sounded like the hiss of a snake about to strike. “Where?” she spat at him.

Danny didn’t waste time pretending not to understand her. “Trithil.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Wasn’t it you shot me? How’d you miss her?”

The bow shook. Danny’s hands began to move under the water, gestures to support and shape the spell he was weaving; Korimenei saw that and took a half step away from him.

“You! Hoor! Don’t you move.”

Again Korimenei froze.

“You! Laz! Get your hands out of the water. Put them on the sill where I can see them. I swear if you move one finger you’re dead.”

Danny hesitated.

“Do it,” Korimenei whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t be a fool. Remember what I am.”

“I hear,” he murmured.

Korimenei slid a hand up to touch Frunzacoache; the woman he’d called Felsrawg was glaring at him, watching him like a cat before a mousehole. She took advantage of Felsrawg’s distraction to ease another step away, but forced herself to relax and go back to watching Danny when she saw the one called Simms watching her.

Moving slowly so he wouldn’t trigger Felsrawg’s precarious temper, Danny eased around so his shoulders were tucked in the corner, his arms outstretched along the sill. “Satisfied?” he said.

“Simms! Scrape your eyeballs off that hoor and get over there with him. Laz, you know what we want. You know how far we’ll go to get it.” She eased up on the bow though she could still get that arrow off before he could move. “Be sensible, man. What’s the point?”

“I can’t give you what I don’t have. The Esmoon went off with it. See her anywhere about?”

“That silka limp? You expect me to believe she’s any good off her back?”

“She’s not a woman, she’s a demon.”

Demon, Korimenei thought. Salamander? No. Too damp in here. It’d likely panic and go out of control. A mancat. Yes… Keep her distracted, Danny, give me time to reach… She moved uneasily at a bark of laughter from the stocky man. Standing beside Danny, a skinning knife in his hand, Simms was watching her with cool speculation; Felsrawg might think he was looking at her breasts, but Korimenei knew better. It was Frunzacoache that attracted him, not her.

“You’re lying. Simms!”

“Let him talk, Felsa. There’s plenty of time for the knife.”

Danny snorted. “Much good it’ll do you, knife or talk.” He waited for Felsrawg to stop quivering, then said, “You got me good three times, Felsa. What happened after that? The Esmoon was there, why didn’t you get her? Think about it.”

“You know.” She growled the words. “You know. Sorceror! You blasted us. Laid us out and went off leaving us to freeze.”

“I was facedown in the snow, leaking blood from three holes, woman. You had to see me down. Use your head. You came within a hair of skewering my heart and you know it. I was in no shape to do anything to anybody.”

“No!” Felsrawg was_, getting agitated again. “No! Liar! If it was true she had it, you’d be nose to the ground after her. You’d have to be.”

“For one, who says I’m not, eh? Think of that?”

“You’re saying she came this way?”

“No. Far as I’m concerned, I’d be delighted if I never saw the creature again. Come on, Felsa, put the bow down. The poison’s out of me. My friend here, she did that when she healed my punctures. She’s got a Talent for that sort of thing.”

Felsrawg stretched her mouth into a mirthless feral grin. “Good for her,” she said, “she can enjoy herself putting you together again. Simms.”

Gods, Korimenei thought. She dropped to her knees, hugged her arms across her breasts and slipped dangerously unprotected into the trance that took her across the realities.