“We need Janni’s soul in heaven; it’s earned its peace. Give it that, and we
will restore you totally-all you were, all you had… including this northern
pair of witches … this amalgam behind you of all their hate-if, as Niko asks,
you show them mercy, then the gods will be well pleased.”
“And if not?” This was no place for Ischade-she had no truck with gods or ghosts
of dead priests. Damn Tempus, who muddled all the sides and made ridiculous
demands.
“That’s done long since,” said the ghost, unabashedly reading her mind. “We’re
here for Janni only, and to give a gift for your safekeeping him until we could
take him home. Now name it, Ischade of Downwind. Choose well.”
She wanted only to get out of there, to be whole and well and fighting on her
own terms, dealing with her own kind. And before she could say that, or think of
something better, Abarsis, one arm around Niko, raised his other hand to her,
saying: “It is done. Go with strength and purpose. Life to you, Sister, and
everlasting glory.”
And the rest-place went out like a light. The icy stream of colored water, the
pillar of fire which aped reality, the snuffling horror at her back which she’d
never truly glimpsed but only felt-and the two fighters, one spirit, one man of
balance: all were gone as if they’d never been.
She was standing on the dry floor of Tasfalen’s house and Haught was taunting
her to come up the stairs.
Mercy, Niko had asked of her. She wondered if she knew, still, what it was and
how to show it to creatures like these.