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"I don't know," whispered Crow. "I just feel… I feel bad."
Now Milla understood. It was the head-wound talking. When it was better, Crow would return to his usual angry self.
"We need you to look at this map," Milla said. She quickly explained what the Icecarls were trying to do, and asked Crow to point out any stairs or entrances from the Chosen levels that they might have missed.
There were quite a few. Milla marked them on her map, and wished for the perfect drawings the Codex could do. If only she'd managed to grab it before.
As each new stair, ramp, or entryway was marked, Milla and Saylsen briefly discussed how to defend or block it. Then Saylsen would send one of her Shield Maidens or hunters off to tell one of the other Shield Mothers to include the new place in her area.
Crow was still going over the map when an Icecarl hunter burst in and came at a run toward Milla, Saylsen, and Malen. When he was a few stretches away, he clapped his fists.
"War-Chief, Shield Mother, I bring word from Shield Mother Kyal," he panted. "The Chosen have attacked. Two tens of them, with shadows, have tried to force the… the Red-West Roundway Down."
He stumbled on the strange place-names, but Milla had already found it on her map, her finger stabbing the hide."
And?" she asked sharply as the hunter took a deep breath.
"We hold it," the Icecarl said proudly. "We have taken four shadows and killed three Chosen. Two of our own are wounded and one slain. Shield Mother Kyal asks for more shadow-bottles and that is all."
Milla looked at Saylsen. She did not know whether there were any such things to spare.
"Go to Anrik, there," snapped out Saylsen, pointing. "He has four shadow-sacks. Take three. Go!"
The hunter clapped his fists and ran off.
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, another panting runner burst in from one of the closer gateways. Also a hunter, he jumped the last terrace and landed with a clatter of polished shell armor. His breastplate bore the scorch-marks of a Red Ray of Destruction. If he hadn't been wearing it, he would have been cut in half.
"War-Chief! Shield Mother Verik says more than four Hands of Chosen and shadows contest the Underfolk Watercart Ramp. They have broken through the middle gate, but we hold the lower. We need mirror-shields and shadow-sacks!"
Milla shrugged the polished shell shield off her back and gave it to him. He seemed surprised, but took it. Saylsen handed him a shadow-bottle from her own belt.
"That's it! Take them and run!"
Saylsen turned to Milla and Crow. "There were few shadow-sacks and suchlike ready for us to bring through, and I know we will need many, many more. Do you know of any other weapons here we may use against the shadows, Crow?"
Crow shook his head. "Jarnil had some shadowsacks, like yours," he said. "But I don't know where he got them. I do have a Sunstone I can use, a little."
"As can I," said Milla. "And there is the Talon."
"The War-Chief must not fight, not unless all will be lost," said Saylsen. "The War-Chief must stand apart, for clear thought and direction."
Milla frowned and made a fist.
"That is the Crone's will, too," said Malen. As she spoke, Milla felt the words like an undigested meal in her stomach, heavy and constricting.
"But the battle has only just started, hasn't it?" asked Ferek anxiously. "And we're winning. Aren't we?"
"Yes," said Milla confidently. "We only look to what might need to be done."
Another Icecarl burst in through a different entrance. A Shield Maiden this time. She ran down the terraces and slid to a stop, speaking even as she clapped her fists together.
"War-Chief! Shield Mother Granlee reports many Chosen gathering above the Old Grand Stair. A hundred or more. Some have armor that shines in different colors, and there are many shadows. The Shield Mother says we will die bravely, but that will not be enough. She asks for another Hand or two."
"The Chosen have been much faster than I
thought," said Milla, speaking too quickly, a sure sign of her agitation. She looked at Saylsen and Malen. "A hundred Chosen, and some of them Guards. We can't risk moving any of the other Hands, in case it is just a trick. I must go!"
"No!" said Malen. The single word gripped Milla in the stomach like a vicious cramp. "It is not safe for you! Send the others, but you must stay!"
"War is not safe," snarled Saylsen angrily. "You must let the War-Chief decide for herself, Crone."
Malen looked worried. She held a hand to her temples.
"I will ask the Crone Mother. Can everyone just be quiet!" "There is no time to ask the Crone Mother," Milla said quietly. "I
am
War-Chief of the Icecarls, Malen. I wear the Talon of Danir. Our people will not die needlessly because I would not stand with them. I
will go."
Malen kept her hand to her temple. Her eyes began to cloud.
Milla ignored the pain in her middle and started to walk away. Saylsen walked with her, summoning her Hand with a wave. Jarek and Kirr were the first to join them, falling in behind with a passing clap of their fists.
Milla kept walking, though the pain was a fire inside her. She heard the mighty Crone voice, too, echoing inside her head. Next to her, but far enough to be out of reach of the Talon, Odris staggered through the air, clutching her stomach and her head.
Every step was agony. But Milla was too proud to give in. The Crones had decided her fate. They had laid a great task upon her. It was not a task she could complete if they tried to control everything she did from far away.
She took another step, and another. Sweat poured from her face and her skin went whiter than the purest snow. But she was almost at her limit of pain and strength. Another few steps and she would fall.
She lifted her foot and slid it forward. As the pain increased, and the great Crone voice inside her head crescendoed, she heard Malen's soft voice cut through pain and noise.
"Go, War-Chief. The Crones say you are free. Free to fight as you think best."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the same laundry holding area he'd used before, Tal found the robes of a Brightstar of the Yellow Order. After he changed into them, he added a bandage around his head. That would not be seen as too unusual right at the moment, Tal thought, as he listened to the continued shouting and the distant sound of what had to be fighting echoing up the laundry chute.
Adras was disguised, too. Tal helped him take on the appearance of a slightly malnourished Borzog, pulling at the Spiritshadow's shoulders and arms. Eventually Adras had the shape almost right.
The Violet Keystone took a little more work to camouflage. It simply didn't want to change color, and Tal had to use all his willpower to get it to revert to its former colors. Eventually he managed it, and it stayed yellow with flecks of red.
He was also pleased to find a packet of dried shrimps in another set of robes. While there was no real need to eat in Aenir, he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten in his normal body. The shrimps went down in a few quick gulps, accompanied by a long drink of water from the prewashing sink used by the Underfolk laundry people.
Disguised, and fortified with food, Tal ventured out into the main
Yellow levels. Chosen were hurrying everywhere, yelling and carrying on, and there were a few Underfolk trying to go about their business. Tal kept his head down and walked slowly, as if he were injured.
It took Tal a while to realize that he was going against the tide of traffic. He was headed down to the Orange levels. Most of the Chosen were heading up, many of them with their Spiritshadows carrying their valuables, children behind them with their shadowguards carrying their toys and keepsakes.
But not all Chosen were fleeing what Tal guessed was a battle with the Icecarls. He had to press himself against the wall of a colorless through-corridor as a disciplined troop of Guards jogged past, side by side with their thin-waisted Spiritshadows. Behind them hurried twenty or thirty determined-looking Chosen of all Orders, Red to Violet, carrying improvised weapons and many Sunstones. Their Spiritshadows danced around them, up and down the walls and across the ceiling. Tal checked them out from the corner of his eye, but couldn't see any extras. So far the free Spiritshadows in the Castle seemed to be biding their time.
As the Guards went past, Tal took the opportunity to slide along to another Chosen, a Brightblinder of the Blue, who had also moved out of the way.
"What is the news?" asked Tal. He didn't bother to give light in respect. Nobody else was, either. Proper courtesy seemed to be the first thing to go.
"The same as before," remarked the Chosen. "Vicious monsters in the lower levels, with white faces. The Guards will sort them out."
He said the last without absolute confidence. "What of the Empress?" asked Tal. The Brightblinder stared at him without comprehension.
"She has announced that the weapons of the Seventh Tower will be used against the invaders," he said. "Is that what you mean?"
"No," said Tal. What were the weapons of the Seventh Tower?
"No. I heard she was . I heard she was sick."
The Brightblinder shook his head. "I've heard all sorts of things today, but nothing as stupid as that. Hold! Where are you going?"
Tal had started to edge away, to follow the Guards.
