The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [63]
"We will not suffer wolves at our gates, Duras. We will do what we must for Rashemen."
"This isn't Rashemen," he replied. "Just an old castle."
"You know what I mean," she said.
"And you know what I mean." His voice rose sharply, then softened. "You're starting to sound like her."
Lowering her head, Thaena did not reply. He spoke truly, and she could not deny that truth. There was something in the durthan that she respected and at the same time feared. She saw something of the same growing in herself, an anger that could only be sated in her enemies' blood. Looking around, she saw naught but bones on the floor and flickering torches on the walls. She had no monstrous shadows on which to blame her emotions, and though her old self loathed the feeling she could not deny its usefulness.
"Where are-the others?" she asked.
Duras said nothing. She placed a hand on his arm, squeezing just enough to let him know his words did not fall on deaf ears.
"Preparing a climb," he answered finally. "There is a small ledge on the inside of the collapsed chamber we can use to reach the bridge. With some rope and a little time…"
"Good," she said, eying Anilya. "We'll go as soon as they're ready."
She listened to him walk away, then let out a held breath and ascended the stairs toward the durthan. Reaching the window she saw the snowstorm had lessened. The wind barely whistled as snow piled within the Shield's walls. The durthan did not move, but stood staring out into the white nothingness. Before Thaena could break that silence, Anilya spoke.
"They don't understand, wychlaren."
"They?"
"The warriors," Anilya said, still watching the falling snow. "Your berserkers, my sellswords. They fight for vengeance, honor, blood-"
"And gold."
"Yes. My men have less passion perhaps, but they know quite well which end of the sword earns their pay. But they don't understand the magic in this place, the power that hides in the walls." Anilya turned to face her. "Not like we do."
"Do not liken me to your understanding, durthan," Thaena said, still contemplating her conversation with Duras. "I sense nothing but what the Creel have awakened here."
And what brought them here? she thought. Suppressing a shudder, she recalled the frozen figure on the bridge and the eyes that had chilled her very soul.
"Do you think the Creel awakened the darkness here?" Anilya asked. "Or was it hathran magic that kept it hidden, existing beyond their notice, sleeping and ignorant, until the hathran were… removed?"
"I fail to see how that matters now," Thaena answered.
"When this is over," the durthan said, "when the Creel are gone, their mysterious leader dealt with, and your hathrans return to their precious outpost, perhaps then it shall matter to you more."
"As I recall, it was durthan magic that summoned those wraiths during the battle."
"And it was out of respect for your authority in this that I gained your permission before doing so," Anilya said. There was no anger or defensiveness in her voice.
Thaena looked away, shaking her head for falling into the durthans logic.
"It was the right decision, Thaena," Anilya said. "These Creel are fighting a war here that we don't understand, making sacrifices more like fanatics than mere raiders. We must match them if we are to succeed."
"And what then?" Thaena said, though she feared the answer, a justification that might ease her troubled mind. The durthan returned to her window view, her secret thoughts, and the swirling snow. Thaena looked upon her enemy and ally with new eyes. It wasn't just philosophical opposition that separated them, but the knowledge that, deep down-in the darkest wisdom of the oldest othlor-the durthan could be right. "We could fall as well."
"Before I answer that, think about the path that lies ahead of us and the blood that still must be shed," Anilya said. "Then ask yourself if you