Kill the Dead Tanith Lee (bts books to read .TXT) 📖

thought which advocates slashing off theoffending part—a hand, say, if you gave them a hand to hold; an ear, if youlistened to them, and a tongue if you spoke to them. In your case, rather anasty amputation, in view of what you were considering doing.”

Itwas so vile, it had to be a joke.

Myallaughed queasily. The men laughed, loud and long, riding around and around him,making his head spin. Then one spurred his horse straight into the pool. Theanimal looked fearsome as it leaped, eyes rolling, mane flying, the ivorycounters of its teeth bared. As the forehoofs hit the water, the rider’s handwhirled up, gripping a cleaver of sword. Myal saw Ciddey’s white face flungback and the sword crashing down on it. He imagined the impact of skin andbone, green-cinder eyes, kissing mouth, with honed excruciating steel. Someonethrew a colourless bag over his head and her scream became a long thin whistle,or a long thin wire, and ceased to matter.

Hecame to, lying face down in a horse’s mane, legs either side in anuncomfortable riding posture, hands securely tied under the beast’s neck.

Thehorse was running. Two other horses ran, one on each side. The right-hand horsehad two riders, the left seemed strangely overcrowded too, but its nearer riderheld the reins of Myal’s horse firmly in his fist.

Everythinghad ended, inevitably, in misery, mistake and injustice.

Surelywhen they killed the girl, they had become aware she was not a ghost? Maybethat made them more dangerous. Was it her corpse over the second horse?Supposedly, any who lived at all close to such a legend as the Ghyste, would beunreasonably wary of apparitions. Myal should have thought of that, so shouldCiddey.

Ciddey....

Theidea of her filled him with fright. Not because of her death by the sword,suddenly, but because—because—Could it be these madmen had been correct? Perhaps the sword was holy insome way and could effect exorcism—Myal had heard, even sung, of such things.If she had been dead.... He felt himself on the verge of passing out again, andstruggled to keep hold of reality.

“Whereare we going?” he asked the men, those courtly riders. The question wasfamiliar. He had asked Dro, the morning he had had the fever, also slung over ahorse, the same thing. Dro had not answered. One of the men did, in hisfashion.

“It’sa surprise. Excited?”

Thehorse bounced over a gap in the ground. Myal slid, the instrument slammed himin the spine and the animal’s withers slammed him in the face.

Hecursed the instrument with hysterical relief that it was still with him.

Everythingelse was horrifying and Myal was helpless. He might as well pass out again,there was nothing he could do. The colourless bag swung up once more and herolled over into it.

“No,”someone said.

Myal’shead was wrenched around. A black fiery juice trickled into his mouth. He swallowed,gagged, swallowed. The horses were static. There was an undeniable sense ofarrival. Somewhere.

Myalopened his eyes.

Hecould not see very far, or very much, from his sideways face-down position, butthey seemed to be on some kind of bridge or causeway. Beyond lay open night,towers and turrets of forest shearing away. Forward, there was light.

Oneof the men bent over Myal, obscuring the limited view completely.

“No,you mustn’t faint anymore.”

“Sorry,”muttered Myal.

“Wewant you to ride in proudly. There’s no pride for us having caught you if yousnivel and swoon and sprawl all over the horse like a bundle of washing.”

“No,I can see that.”

“Ifyou’re good, we’ll let you sit upright.”

“Andwhen we get through the gate, you could shout and thrash about a bit,” saidanother, smoothly. “The notion being that you’re brave, and furious at capture.Do you see?”

“Thenwe’ll cuff you, beat you into submission. It’ll look fine. So will you.”

“I’drather—” said Myal. A voice cut him short.

“I’vea better idea,” said the voice.

Hecould not twist his head any farther, could not see. Then he no longer neededto.

“Well,”said the bending man, “what’s your idea, Ciddey?”

“Myidea,” said the voice of Ciddey, “is that I rope him about the neck with aribbon, and lead him in that way. You can follow.”

Themen laughed. The laugh was dark and menacing.

“You’rebold, for a newcomer,” said one.

Ciddeydid not laugh. She slipped from the second horse. She walked to where Myal lay,his head turned painfully to stare at her.

“Whata pity, though,” she said, “I don’t seem to have a ribbon.”

Suddenlythe bonds that held Myal to the horse’s neck gave way, untied or cut by one ofthe men. Myal lay, with his arms dangling, till one of the others pulled himupright.

“Areyou bewildered, Myal Lemyal?” asked Ciddey Soban. She put her hand on histhigh. Her hand was cold as winter snow. “They didn’t kill me. It was a test.They do kill. But not—a friend.”

ThenMyal looked ahead.

Hesaw the sloping crenellated walls, the sturdy gates, the light of lamps thatoverpowered the light of the stars and phantomised the moon. And far below, hemade out the inner rim of a colossal water. Though from this vantage he couldsee only two of its starlike raying channels.

Oneof the men slapped him on the arm, a hard freezing slap. Myal knew it all bythen. He did not need them to say to him, one by one, most courteously,“Welcome to Tulotef.”

Afteran interval of oblivion, Parl  Dro opened his eyes.

Hehad told Myal to wake him after three hours, but Dro had not reckoned Myalwould last so long. Dro’s inner clock roused him accordingly.

Hewoke silently and stilly, fully alert within seconds. Not yet moving, he lethis eyes seek over the ridge. He had registered immediately that the musicianwas absent, but that the instrument remained, propped by a tree, trailing itssling like a frayed embroidered tail. Dro might have assumed Myal had stolenoff for the usual private purpose of nature, save that, to Dro, the whole areaseemed imperceptibly to sing and glow, as if some kind of mineral had fallenfrom the sky.

PresentlyDro sat up, rose, walked across to the spot beside the instrument where Myalhad been sitting. The grass was still flattened somewhat— not by a seatedfigure, but a prone one. Myal had slept at his watch as Dro had grimlypredicted. Looking at it, Dro felt the familiar signals, the shift of hair