The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3)

The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3) Page 303

“What are you?” asked Alain. “Are you Dariyan?”

“I know not this tribe,” answered the prince. “Stand aside.”

“If we stand aside, will you go on your way without harming us?” asked Alain, not moving from the path.

“Let us shoot, Alain! Move aside!” cried Captain Thiadbold, and by the stillness of the prince’s face and the unblinking regard of those soldiers closest to him, Alain realized that the prince and his followers could not hear Thiadbold’s voice.

“Nay, Captain,” said Alain. “Let them pass in peace. Their fight is not with us.”

“Are there others with you?” demanded the prince.

A shade-woman crowding behind the prince hissed, raised her bow, and drew down on something behind Alain’s head just as he heard grass rustle behind him and Thiadbold’s voice, much closer now. “They’re spread thin,” said the captain. “Use cover to give you room to shoot.”

“I’m standing up,” said Alain, and with infinite care he did so, moving as slowly as he could to make sure no one would be startled. He was careful to keep his feet on the old track. “I beg you, Captain Thiadbold. Call your men back. Let them pass in peace. They have no quarrel with us.” He lifted a hand, palm up and open in the sign of peace. “Where is Liathano, my lord prince?”

“She is walking the spheres,” said the prince, eyes widening with elegant astonishment. “How is it you know of her? Yet there is something familiar about you—”

“Go on your way in peace, I pray you,” said Alain. “I swear on my God, the Two who dwell in Unity. Swear on your own god, and we will step back. We will not molest you. There is no war between us.”

The shade-woman standing behind the prince spat on the ground. “There is always war between us!”

“Nay, be not impatient,” said the prince, setting his spear haft down on the path. “We have our own troubles. This ijkia’pe tells the truth. They are fully of the world. We need not fight them.”

“Not now,” said the woman, “but if the tide washes us back to shore, then it is better if there are less of them.”

“Nay, reckless one. Or have you forgotten the army of shanaret’zeri which pursues us?” He lifted his spear and shook it. Bells, tied to the base, rang softly. “So be it, ijkia’pe. I swear by He-Who-Burns that as long as you touch no one of us, we will touch no one of you. But I will stand here beside you while my people pass, and my spear will pierce your heart if you have lied to me.”

Alain stepped back from the path. “So be it. Captain Thiadbold, I pray you, tell the men to stand down. Let these people pass, and there will be no fighting.”

A woman’s voice, very human, spoke. He thought it might be that of the blonde Eagle who rode with them. “Listen to him, comrade. I think he sees more than we do.”

“Stand down,” said Thiadbold. “Let no man attack, by my order.”

The command passed down through the gathered Lions, an echo of the whisper of the shadowy procession as it moved on. The prince stood aside to wait beside Alain, although he kept his feet upon the stones, and now the shade-woman led the way, striding forward with her bow taut before her. She, too, wore a cuirass of gleaming bronze, but she had no sword, only an ugly obsidian dagger strapped to her thigh.

“God have mercy,” swore Thiadbold. By the sound of his voice, he seemed to be standing a few steps behind Alain. “I’ve never seen a woman that beautiful. I’d die happy if she plunged her dagger into my heart at the moment of release.”

The wind had come up, as if blown off the march itself, the procession winding by. They walked two abreast, with their unearthly bronze-complexioned faces and their strange garb, more beads and feathers than Alain had ever seen. Only a few wore metal, whether armor or decoration. All their weapons were of stone except for their arrows, which looked like slender, arm-length darts whittled out of bone. Not one man among them had a beard. Not one woman did not carry a bow. There were a few children, preciously guarded in the middle of the long line, naked bronze-skinned babies or long-limbed, silent youngsters with eyes as bright as stars. Every soul among them wore jade in an ear. Their passage was like the wind, and as Alain watched, he realized that in fact their feet didn’t quite truly tread on the ground. No grass bent. No dirt stirred.

They weren’t really here, not as he was.

Some man was crying in fear among the human crowd, babbling about a procession of shades come to haunt the waking world.