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.O my Queen, Segnbora thought.Surely somewhere the Maiden dwelt in saner aspects, whole and alive and forever creating.But to see even a minor aspect of Godhead so twisted was too bitter for a mortal to bear for long.Hurrying, Segnbora turned to follow the others.They were far ahead of her, unerringly following the way out that she had set for them.The sorcery was holding surprisingly well, considering how long it had been since she had used sorcery to do as much as mend a pot or start a fire.Segnbora went quickly, trotting, even though physical activity would bring on the backlash with a vengeance.It just felt wonderful to move again.(Mdaha, you all right?)(My head hurts,) he said, surprised.(It’s the effect of the sorcery; you’re picking it up from me.) Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to be very solicitous: there were still too many things that could go wrong.They could come to the doors and find them closed.Or, if they were open, the bridge could be gone.Or—Something moved close by, a figure approaching Segnbora from one side.It was not one of her own people, she knew.Her hand went to Charriselm’s hilt.Summersky opals winked at her as Efmaer came up beside her and walked with her, quickly but without animation.“You are leaving,” the Queen said.“Yes.Come with us—”Efmaer shook her head.“Gladly would I come…but I never found Sefeden to get my Name back, and without it I cannot leave.”“But you know your Name.”“I have forgotten it,” said the Queen.Segnbora’s insides clenched with pity…and suddenly the memory she hadn’t been able to pin down drew itself across her pain-darkened mind like a falling star.She stopped and took the Queen urgently by the shoulders, half expecting to find herself holding a ghost, or something hard and cold.But there was warmth in that body, and an old supple strength that spoke of years spent swinging Fórlennh and Skádhwë in the wars against the Fyrd.“Efmaer,” Segnbora said, “Enra gave the secret to her daughter, and it passed into the lore of our line.I know your Name.”Undead though she was, the Queen still managed to show shock and dismay that a stranger knew her greatest secret, the word that described who she was.But her distress lasted hardly a breath.“Tell me quickly!”Segnbora swallowed, looked Efmaer in the eye, and whispered it—one long, cadenced, beautiful word in very old Darthene.Efmaer’s eyes filled with it, filled with life, and tears.“Kinswoman,” she choked, the word carrying a great weight of thanks and wild hope.“Go.Don’t stay for me.I’ll meet you by the doors if I can.I have to see about something before I go.”Off Efmaer went into the unchanging dusk.Segnbora turned and ran after her friends.They were almost out of sight, near the outwall, where the twilight was thickest.(Mdaha, what’s the time?)(There’s a little left yet.)She ran, harder than before, somehow feeling relieved of a great burden.She could feel the backlash of her sorcery creeping up on her, a hammering in her head and a weakness in the limbs.But her sorcery was holding, the others were still bound by her will.She caught sight of them now, not too far ahead, right up against—“Oh Dark!” she whispered in complete despair, not caring what the swearing might invoke.The great doors were shut.The faint light of the lying Moon shone high as before, but its light looked dimmer somehow.Freelorn and Herewiss were standing there looking dully up at the doors with the others.There was someone else there too, backed up against the entrance.She pushed past Herewiss and stopped short, horrified.There was more energy bound up in that waiting figure than in anyone else she had seen in Glasscastle.It was someone slender, a blade of a woman with about as much curve; someone with a slight curvature of the back that made for an odd stance, balanced forward as if perpetually about to lunge; someone with a sword like the sharpened edge of the young Moon, and short straight hair shockingly white at the roots; someone wearing a surcoat with Enra’s lioncelle on it, passant regardant in blood and gold.Her dark eyes had a dazzlement about them, a terrible placidity.The One with Still Hands looked out of them.She was not defeated yet.“No,” Segnbora whispered.Her other self gazed at her with eyes tranquil and deadly, and hefted another Charriselm, making sure of her grip.“You’re not leaving,” her own voice said.Segnbora stepped closer, fascinated by the sight of herself.The other watched her unperturbed, wearing the aura of calm that Shíhan had taught her was better far than armor.(Mdaha, do you suppose she has you too?)(As far as I can tell, I’m only here once.Is she truly you?)(I don’t know—) Segnbora took another step forward.“Save yourself some trouble,” said the Segnbora who guarded the door, “and don’t bother.”(I think so,) she said to Hasai.Queasiness started to rise inside her.The backlash was starting, and that meant she would soon be unable to hold together the sorcery.The others would start to drift away.Her other self took a step forward.There was no question about her purpose.Segnbora raised Charriselm to guard, two-handed, and for the first time eyed her own stance as other opponents must have eyed it, seeking a weakness to exploit for the kill.What frightened her most was that so far, all those who had attempted what she must now attempt were dead.They started to circle one another.“What I don’t understand,” the other said in a calm, reasonable voice, “is why you’re trying to leave.”“I have my reasons,” Segnbora said, shuddering at the strangeness of answering her own voice.“And I have my oaths—”“Your oaths are vain,” said her other self, edging closer in that particular sideways fashion that was Segnbora’s favorite for closing inconspicuously with an enemy [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]