I am going to make a momentous decision. Most likely it is a bad decision. Certainly it may be the last major decision I ever make. A terrible, bleak decision born of despair, surely. The decision only a man overcome by the beast that hunts him would make.
And for that reason I throw my DCS into high gear, banish every scrap of misery, love and hate, all the emotional baggage. Back to your oubliette. Grown-ups are talking.
With that artificial and antiseptic clarity I consider exactly what I am going to do, clinical as a computer. I expect the whole plan to evaporate in that harsh light. To turn out to be no more than bad ideas born of bad thoughts and self-loathing. Yet the shocking thing is （or would be, could I be shocked） that it all holds up. The chain of logic, the lack of other options. If I want this end, then I require these means. And the lack of affect I’m working under means that the usual human rejection of such dire measures doesn’t come either. Yes, my absolutely clear mind tells me. This is a workable plan. At this late hour, both sides of my nature reach across the border and shake hands on it. This is the only recourse now.
I need to tell her face-to-face, and that means I drop the DCS and let all the emotion back in. That is how it should be. I need my voice to tremble, when I explain the plan to her. I need her to see in my face just how serious I am about this. Most of all I need to feel. I cannot propose such a measure as this as though it’s like filling in a necessary but onerous form.
And yet, when I confront her in the morning, and she already garbed for war, buckling on her sword belt, all I can do is stare at her. Gaze at her. She is so like Astresse, and Astresse would never have gone along with something like my plan. And neither will Lyn.
I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes. Worse, I can feel the absolute assurance that this won’t work, that I won’t be able to talk her out of her stupid plan and into mine, which will seem so much worse to her. Which is so much worse, because most likely it means we’ll both die, rather than just her. I just stand there before her expectant gaze and say nothing, and then say nothing some more, until the only thing I can do is bring the DCS back online. Sometimes you can’t get things done, with all that in the way. Sometimes sincerity has to take a back seat.
“Let us walk,” I tell her. “I will go with you.” I say nothing about the plan, not yet. That turns out to be the logical decision.
Lynesse
ESHA DIDN’T WANT TO let her go, but wanted even less to go into the heart of the demon’s realm. In the end Lyn had to pull together all her authority as princess of Lannesite. “Someone must tell my mother,” she insisted. “When you have seen how things fall out. And you,” to Allwer. “You were not always a good man, but you have been a good man in this. You have earned your reprieve.”
After that, there was no more to it than to go, not even a long trek, save that they would be passing through forest utterly conquered by the demon. They had to wind their way, finding paths broad enough to admit them and, even then, the bushy growth of scale that encrusted every surface quivered and reached for them as they passed, extruding whip-like feelers that got within inches of their skin before recoiling from the invisible shield the sorcerer had about them.
Some of what they passed through had likely been more than just trees. The lopsided, furred-over shapes were suggestive of other bodies. The dense profusion of the demon-mark became a blessing, hiding what it had grown upon.
Nyrgoth Elder was very quiet at Lyn’s side, walking with long, solemn strides and head downcast.
“You think I’m going to die,” she accused him, although she might as well have been speaking to her own mind, which had not let up on the subject since they set out.
He stopped, staring at nothing, or inwards. “When we reach the gate,” he said, then faltered, closing his eyes and summoning his resolve. “When we reach the gate,” he repeated, “you must do as I ask you. Will you swear to it? You may not want to.” And then a brief twist of a smile. “Or perhaps you will. Who knows? But do it. Swear to it. As a hero or a princess or whatever is appropriate.”
“What is it?”
“Wizardly things. Oaths and words of great power. Magic,” he said.
“Magic is just the secret ways of the world. Tell me.”
He tried to. She saw the will to do so rise up within him, but find no way to the outside world. “I have lived a long time,” he said at last. “Ridiculously long. And to no purpose.”
In such a way he managed to communicate his meaning to her, without ever having to say the words.