Malodorous black fluid drained away from the egg, flowing back into the cavern shadows, leaving behind a human figure, a woman whose skin was as white as maggot flesh.
The woman’s long leather skirt had witch-knots dangling from its hem. Her breasts were bare and three bright stones shone between them, hung from black cords about her neck. When she spoke, Nahala saw that her teeth had been filed to points. Shaking a finger at Ushted, she cried, “You! What have you done?”
Both Nahala and Sliv were trembling with fear, for the woman was no less dreadful than the lizard had been. Her hair rose up as if underwater, swaying like a hundred slim eels. Ushted the Protector, however, displayed not the least concern. “I have made your husband useless to you. You want him awake and aware and able to suffer. I can undo his stupor. But if I do not, he will die in his sleep. Painlessly.”
The woman’s eyes were bright with rage. “Why would you do such a foolish—and for you, fatal—thing?
“You have three talismans upon you. One grants you passage from the fires at the center of the world to its surface and back again. That one I disdain. The second allows you to fly vast distances, supported by the winds. Tempting, but not to my taste. The third, which allows you to walk in time, however . . .” He drew the amulet from beneath his black robe. “I know you will surrender because I already hold it.”
“It is true I can walk in time. Perhaps I will take a stroll to just before you poisoned my husband.”
“If you do, I will similarly go back to this morning and Olav will not come to you. Game lost. But you won’t—I have been here before, and I know.” Producing a small silver knife, Ushted the Protector made a long cut in his palm. Blood welled up. “Here is our deal: I will bring Olav back from the brink of death in exchange for the amulet and your promise that as soon as you are done with him, you will leave and never return.” He proffered her the knife, hilt-first.
Disdaining the offer, the witch-woman slid a hand across her sharpened teeth, opening a gash in it. Black ichor oozed out. “I have no interest whatsoever in your city or yourself or, when my vengeance is done, the lands of the living. It is an easy promise to give and easier to keep.”
“Then I will descend the mountain a hero.”
They clasped hands. Blood and ichor mingled. Then Ushted the Protector crouched by Olav’s body and, turning the head away from him, stuck a finger down the warrior’s throat.
When Olav was done vomiting, Ushted cleaned his hand with the hem of his robe and, standing, said, “He will come to within the hour. Do with him then as you wish.”
The witch hissed in anger and looked upon him with absolute loathing. Nevertheless, she removed one amulet from her neck and held it forth.
Ushted the Protector shook his head. “Give it to the boy.” Sliv looked startled. “As you did long, long ago, when I was him.”
Nahala looked from Sliv to Ushted and back again, mentally erasing the wizard’s beard and imagining the boy’s face grown lean with maturity. How could she not have seen before that they were one and the same person?
Avarice burning on his face, Sliv accepted the gem.
Turning a disdainful back on Olav, the witch, and the cavern, Ushted the Protector said, “Follow me, the both of you.”
Numb, Nahala did so. Sliv, filled with elation, skipped ahead, and fell behind to hold up his amulet to the sun, and ran to catch up again. The cavern disappeared behind them. “This is mine to keep?” he asked. “For as long as I live?”
“Obviously.”
Sliv glanced sidewise at Nahala. “And the girl?”
With a shrug, Ushted the Protector said, “She is yours. Unless, as she did the first time around, she manages to slip away from you on the way down the mountain.”
Nahala stumbled over a rock and almost fell. She heard Sliv laugh, and her heart grew cold.
If your enemy has a better weapon than you, take it away from him. That was another thing Olav had said. Moving as swiftly and fluidly as ever she had, Nahala strode forward, stabbed her staff between the wizard and his amulet, and flung it into the air. It flew to her hand. She slung it over her own neck.
With the amulet, Nahala could protect not only herself but her master and weapons instructor as well. Nothing could harm them. They could leave Kheshem behind. If need be, they could cross the desert in perfect safety, with nothing more than Olav’s sword to protect them. Clutching the stone, she cried in triumph, “Take me back to this morning!”
Nothing happened.
Ushted smiled urbanely. “The amulet will take you back no further than when you first put it on. Nor do you know how to use it.” Extending his hand, he added, “I am aware that Sliv told you I am not a great wizard. But if you honestly doubt I can protect myself, then by all means attempt to throw those knives I see your hand yearning toward.”
The butt of a spear struck Ushted hard in the side of the jaw, sending two teeth and a gout of blood into the air. He fell and a sandaled foot trod upon his neck to hold him captive. In a small, puzzled voice, he gasped, “But that’s not what happened—”
Sure hands spun the spear about and drove the business end through his rib cage, piercing his heart.
Ushted the Protector, also called the Uncanny, was dead.
The woman who had appeared out of nowhere had precious stones everywhere: on her many rings, on her even more necklaces, on her bangles and bracelets, and set into her cheeks and earlobes. A curved sword hung at her side. The long black spear that she drew back up from the wizard’s chest, lethal though it was, looked not half so deadly as did she herself.
This apparition was the most wonderful thing Nahala had ever seen in her life. A heavily embroidered skirt hung down past her knees and was slit on either side almost to her waist, revealing multicolored leggings beneath. A leather vest or breastplate, marvelously crafted with the image of the desert sun, was fretted with amber beads and yellow citrines so that it dazzled the eye. A small leather cap held her braided hair in place. She was strong and stocky and everything that Nahala had ever dreamed of someday becoming.
Her heart went out to this radiant creature. “Who . . . who are you?”
The warrior-woman smiled a stony smile and pulled out from beneath her vest the exact same amulet that Nahala now wore. “Why, don’t you know, dear? I’m you.”
Talking, they walked back up the mountain.
After he recovered from his stunned paralysis, Sliv had, of course, bolted like a marsh rabbit. In a flash, Nahala’s knives were in her hands. His back was wide and inviting—and then gone. She hadn’t thrown.
“That was wisely done,” her older self had said. “Kill no more than you absolutely have to.”
“Olav said that to me!”
“Yes, he did.”
Now, however, Nahala peered anxiously up the trail. “Shouldn’t we be hurrying?”
“Hush.” Nahala’s future self smiled reassuringly. “We have all the time in the world.”
The fight did not last long. When they came in sight of her, the dragon-witch was crouched anxiously over Olav’s body, watching his pulse quicken. Without challenge or battle cry, the warrior Nahala ran straight at her. When, hearing the rush of footsteps, the witch straightened, Nahala cut through both amulet thongs and her throat with a single slash of her scimitar, so that the hag could neither escape nor call down a curse upon them. With a gesture, however, the witch-woman summoned her dark, fluid substance back to herself.