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"I will show you where we are. Who has a hide and a drawing-stick?" Milla asked. Immediately several rolled-up Wreska hides were offered to her, and a variety of writing-sticks, from basic charcoal to a thin brush and bottle of Thrill-ink.
Milla spread the hide out and knelt down, sketching quickly with the charcoal. She drew a very basic plan of the area around the Assembly, then a rough cross section of the Castle, showing the Underfolk levels and the major stairs that she knew.
"We will hold the top Underfolk level at these stairs and this ramp, and at any others that we may find," she said, pointing to several different points. "Then the Chosen will not be able to get food or have their servants attend to them. Most of the Chosen are soft, and will suffer greatly. That will help us when the time comes for the full attack. We must move quickly to have every possible stair and way between Red One and Underfolk Seven blocked."
A Shield Mother sliced the air with her palm. "Speak," responded Milla.
"What of the Underfolk? Will they resist?"
"Perhaps," said Milla. "But it is my wish that they are not to be harmed unless there is no other way. Some may try to go to work in the Chosen levels, but they must be turned back. We will have some
Freefolk to help explain to them, and others who will guide us."
Another Shield Mother sliced the air, one of the older ones, with many scars upon her face and hands. Milla nodded.
"This is a straight plan, War-Chief, but to make sure I have it in my old head, may I repeat it? We hold all stairs and ramps and ways between us and the Chosen, kill or capture Chosen or Spiritshadows, be wary of Underfolk but treat them well, and die before retreating."
"Yes," said Milla. "We must hold these levels, until the arrival of the main host."
Another slice through the air.
"Yes?"
"Perhaps we should speak no more, War-Chief, but hurry to find all stairs and ramps, and be ready before the enemy strikes."
Milla nodded. "This place shall be our clan-ship. Send all messengers here. Beware the shadows, for they are more dangerous than the Chosen, even with their light magic. Now, who shall go where? Speak freely."
The Shield Mothers gathered even closer, and spoke quickly, sometimes over the top of one another. But it was soon decided which Hands would go where, and as each decision was made, the relevant Shield Mother would turn away and hurry to gather her Shield Maidens and hunters.
Finally only one Shield Mother remained. The older one, with many scars. Her name was Saylsen, Milla remembered.
"I will stay here, with my Hand, to guard the ship-place and the War-Chief," said Saylsen. She glanced at Malen, and Milla caught a slight nod from the Crone. Obviously this had been decided already.
"What do the Crones say of our plans?" asked Milla. She had seen Malen's eyes go cloudy through nearly the whole meeting of the Shield Mothers.
"You are War-Chief," replied Malen, neatly avoiding an answer. Then she added, "The Freefolk boy. Crow. He is conscious. You wished to speak with him?"
"Yes!" Milla looked across at the pulpit. Sure enough, Crow was sitting up. Ferek was giving him a drink. Gill had left a little earlier, proudly leading a Hand of Shield Maidens.
Milla also saw Jarek and Kirr. They were sitting on a ledge beyond the pulpit, playing the knife-hide-stone game.
Saylsen saw her look. "Jarek and Kirr are with my Hand. The Crones asked it of them."
Guards, Milla thought. She wondered if they were there to protect her, or to protect Malen from her. After all, if anything happened to Malen, then Milla would be free to do as she liked, until the Crones sent a replacement.
That prompted a thought.
"Are more Crones coming?" Milla asked.
"Not until the battle is won," replied Malen. "It is not the place of a Crone to be in battle."
"What about you?" asked Milla. Malen wet her lips and looked troubled.
"You know Crones must never join any fighting. There was a lot of talk about even sending me here, where battle may come anywhere. As for the wounded --""Wounded live if they are meant to," interrupted Saylsen with a shrug. "If there are no Crones, there are no Crones. Warriors fight and warriors die."
"I was speaking, Shield Mother," said Malen.
Saylsen did not seem repentant. She gave Milla a look that seemed to say,
This is our business, not the Crone's.
"Come and talk to Crow with me," said Milla to Saylsen. "He knows the Castle well, and is a sworn enemy of the Chosen."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The rainbow colors cleared away, leaving only a steady violet light. Tal blinked and felt the stone lid of the sarcophagus above him. "Adras?" he whispered. He felt cool shadowflesh across his arm as Adras slid out and up the side of the sarcophagus.
"Yes?" "Just checking," whispered Tal. "Are you all right?"
"Aenir is better than here," replied Adras. "I don't like being a shadow."
"You'll get back there," said Tal. He said it automatically, but it stu
ck in his head and he paused to think about what he was saying. What would he do with Adras? It was now certain that Milla was right when she said that the Chosen should not have Spiritshadows.
In addition to saving the Veil, Tal would have to make sure all the Spiritshadows the Chosen now had were sent back to Aenir and made to stay there. This would include Adras. And what would happen to the Chosen when all their Spiritshadows were gone, and--as Tal admitted had to happen--the Underfolk were freed?
Tal shook his head. Best he think like an Icecarl and worry about the Ice in front of him, not what lay behind or far ahead.
"There is something sharp… and hot… cutting into me," complained Adras. "Can we get out now?"
"Sorry," apologized Tal. It was time to act, not lie there thinking. With Adras's help he raised the lid of the sarcophagus a fraction and looked through the gap. The Mausoleum was silent and there were no bright lights disturbing its perpetual twilight. Tal could hear a lot of shouting in the distance, but it was far off and didn't seem to be coming any closer.
He slid off the lid and climbed out. Adras flowed out after him.
The Red Keystone was lying in the sarcophagus. Tal reached in and picked it up.
"The pocket doesn't work when I'm a shadow," said Adras, rubbing his stomach.
Tal knew Spiritshadows had difficulty handling Sunstones, though they had no problem with normal items in the Dark World. He supposed it was another part of the mystery of their transformation between the worlds, the transformation that made them Spiritshadows.
Together they replaced the lid with its statue of the long-gone-to-dust occupant's Spiritshadow. Then Tal held up the Red Keystone, his forehead wrinkled in thought.
"I suppose I should release Lokar," he said, looking down at the half of the Violet Keystone on his finger. "If I can."
Adras nodded firmly. "Prison bad. Better to be free in the air."
"We'd better find somewhere to hide first," Tal said. He could still hear the shouting, and he wanted to know what was going on. But Adras was right. Now that he knew he might be able to release Lokar, he should do so as soon as possible.
