Blackdog by K. V. Johansen Read Free Book Online Page A

and the grey and the gloss of a fevered sweat more pronounced on Tamghat's skin. He might not want to knock down another wall right away, but the red fire still lurked behind his eyes. He was more than the Blackdog could overcome. The dog recognized it, was willing to let Otokas think clear-headed and single-minded for a moment. But waiting, still, to kill anything that moved against the goddess.
    Someone among the wounded was weeping, a grating, heartwrenching sound, and another whimpered, “Mama, mama, mama…” over and over without pause. Most kept silent, as if the wizard held them, stifling the moaning and the screams, denying them that freedom in their dying.
    “I'm sorry.” Otokas turned Kayugh's face, kissed her on the lips, lingering the space of a heartbeat, no more. “I'll see you,” he said softly, “soon enough, I expect.” And, loud enough for the surviving sisters from the gatehouse to hear, “The horse is a mare. I told you.” He heard the deep breaths, the faint settling shuffle, weapons taken in surer grip.
    He walked, not looking back, between the living and the dead. Perhaps Tamghat was simply waiting for him to hail those beyond to open the narrow door in the thick wall between Outer and Inner Court, waiting for it to be opened. He ran the last few steps, letting the Blackdog take him at last, a moment of burning, breaking, a blackness flowing up and over the wall, Kayugh's voice already raised, no orders, just the cry, “Attalissa!” taken up by a few-score throats, and the sudden clash of steel.
    The dormitory of six older sisters guarding the door of the Inner Court scattered as he came down, spun past them, and headed inside. The Blackdog had no human voice, and he had nothing to tell them. He ran four-footed through corridors and stairways deserted. They were praying in the New Chapel, singing hymns. He heard Old Lady's voice among them. No arguing with her, then, just as well. More stairs. He skidded on the smooth-worn stone outside the heavy door of the Old Chapel, barked, the dog's temper frayed past sense and the door closed and locked. He pulled himself back to Otokas, lifting a hand to beat on it and stumbling in as Meeray jerked it open.
    Attalissa flung herself on him, a warm, fragile, shivering weight that clung when he picked her up as though to let go meant her death. Practical Meeray had changed her from her ceremonial robe; she wore a plain, full-skirted dress of black wool over red woollen leggings now.
    “I was about to send for you,” Meeray said. “She's…it was worse when she stopped screaming. What's going on out there? Are they attacking the gates?”
    He shook his head, setting the goddess down again. She gripped his hand hard enough to hurt and said nothing.
    “We can't hold out. The warlord's a wizard, stronger than a demon and vicious as a devil. The gatehouse, the bell-tower—gone.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Gone. Smashed.” He gestured with a free hand. “Like that. The tower fell.”
    “But how—”
    “Meeray. Listen. He's more than a wizard, I don't know what. He wants the goddess. She knew it, she was right. I have to get her away till she's come into her strength. Kayugh—they'll buy some time, out there. That's all we can do.”
    “But ‘Lissa can't leave the lake. Where can you hide her?”
    “That's my problem.”
    “And how do you expect to get her away, if they're fighting at the gate? The water-gate's under attack as well, and barely holding. No chance of making a sally there. One of the girls came here a little while ago, checking to see if we had any arrows.”
    Otokas gave Meeray a crooked smile. “The Old Chapel is very old. We were at war with the Narvabarkashi, not long after the first temple was built, and the goddess made a way into the lake, one that Narva and his priests couldn't watch. So there's a way out from here, for the goddess and me, at least. Move the altar.”
    “Narvabarkash has three yaks and a lame