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‘By lapping the valley between Mother’s legs.’
‘Tellanas,’ Hataras said, nodding again. ‘Sorcery is the snake eating its own tail. It looks upon itself and in looking it devours, and in devouring, it grows. So the magic attends an endless feast. Our goddess Mother is trapped in a circle of herself. But we Bonecasters, we dance.’
For all their bluntness, these two women often confounded Listar. He had no understanding of this magic of which they spoke. To him, the Azathanai were half-legendary figures, not quite obscure enough for him to disbelieve in their existence, yet vague enough in details to lend him scepticism regarding their exploits. They straddled a line of veracity, and until tales of the one named T’riss, and her curses uttered in the Citadel of Kharkanas, reached Listar, he had given little thought to the Azathanai. Builders. Gift givers.
And, it now seems, meddlers.
‘If they would be gods,’ he now said, as the guards ahead waved them forward, ‘why not reveal such? Why hide their power?’
‘Worship is vulnerability,’ replied Hataras. ‘See how we dance around Mother? We are her weakness, even as she is ours.’
‘Worse yet,’ added Vastala, ‘they too are children inside. Players of games.’
Listar squinted, seeing Wareth and Rebble now, the two men pushing their way through the small crowd awaiting them. It is strange, to call these two my friends. And yet, they are. The coward and the bully. But I wonder, how much courage does it take to live with your fear? And how vast is Rebble’s heart, to cast so kind an eye upon those of us who are weak? We too readily judge and then dismiss.
But I think it is not Rance who should fear most what is to come. It is Wareth.
* * *
‘Listar looks different,’ said Rebble, tugging at his fingers to make the knuckles pop. ‘Younger.’
Wareth nodded. Or, perhaps, no longer so old. ‘Then they may have worked on him already,’ he said.
Rebble grunted. ‘By how they hover around him, I’d say there was truth in your words, Wareth. Worked on him, hah.’
‘I meant the ritual.’
‘I meant sex.’
‘Yes, well. I suppose word’s already reached Prazek and Dathenar, but why don’t you make sure, and see that Rance is escorted into the centre of the parade ground. That’s how they want this to proceed.’
‘Assuming those witches will do as asked.’ Rebble paused. ‘Whatever that is, and damned if I have a clue.’
‘Nor I, to be honest. As for these Bonecasters agreeing to it, well, they’re here, aren’t they?’
Grunting, Rebble stepped forward. ‘Listar! Welcome back! Bring ’em in to the middle of the parade ground.’ Then he turned about, grinned enigmatically at Wareth, and set off back into the camp.
Wareth studied the two Dog-Runners. For all their blunt, stolid forms, there was a sensuality about them, and in their manner of moving, and their gestures, he wondered if they were sisters. Still, they seem young to be powerful witches.
Listar handed the reins of the trailing horses to a nearby soldier and then walked up to Wareth. For a moment, it seemed that the man contemplated closing with an embrace, but at the last instant he halted, and nodded awkwardly. ‘Lieutenant.’ He glanced to one of the Bonecasters who now moved past him to stare up into Wareth’s eyes. ‘Ah, this is Hataras Raze. And here, Vastala Trembler. Bonecasters of the Logros clan of the Dog-Runners.’
Hataras reached out and rested one thick, calloused forefinger against Wareth’s chest. ‘This one, the coward?’
‘So he calls himself,’ Listar replied.
She pushed Wareth back a step with that stiff finger, and then, moving past, said, ‘Bah. We are all cowards, until we are not. Now, where is the tormented woman?’
‘Take your pick,’ a feminine voice offered from the crowd.
Hataras grinned. ‘Good!’
Another woman spoke, ‘You here to kill all the men?’
Vastala replied, ‘In a way, yes!’
Listar scowled, and then turned to Vastala. ‘Please, no more of Dog-Runner humour. Come along, we’re to head to the centre of the camp.’
‘Have the soldiers encircle us there,’ Hataras said, continuing on.
