‘You betrayed no one. You did not summon the demons.’
‘I could have opened a portal and taken them to safety.’
‘Now you are making me angry,’ he said, but the hand stroking her head was still gentle. ‘There is no one living who would not change some aspect of the past if they could, to avoid a hurt or a tragedy. We make mistakes. It is just the grim game of life. Your people followed you because they loved and believed in you. You were seeking to prevent a great evil. Yes, they died to protect you. And they did it willingly. It is for you to make that sacrifice worthwhile by surviving, as they wanted you to survive. You hear me?’
‘I hear you, Grey Man. But we have lost. The gateway will open, and the evil of Kuan-Hador will return.’
‘Maybe so – maybe not. We still live. I have had many enemies, Ustarte, powerful enemies. Some commanded nations, others armies, others demons. They are all dead and I still live. And while I live I will not accept defeat.’
Closing her eyes, she tried to flow with the pain. Ustarte felt the blanket being lifted from her. The Grey Man was studying her wounds. They are healing well,’ he said.
‘Why will this Change be dangerous for you?’
‘I become larger. The stitches will tear open. If this begins to happen you must. . . kill me. I will no longer be Ustarte. And what I become will . . . slaughter you in its agony. You understand?’
‘Yes. Rest now.’
For a human it would have been sound advice, but Ustarte knew that if she did not stay conscious the swirling would begin again and she would metamorphose. She lay very still. Her thoughts began to drift. Several times she almost lost the focus. She saw again the breeding pens, felt again the terrible fear she had known. The crippled girl, dragged from her home and brought underground to the ceaseless horror of the pens. Sharp knives cutting into her flesh, noxious liquids being forced down her throat. Each time she vomited more of the fluid was poured into her mouth. Spells were cast, sharper than knives, hotter than fire, colder than ice.
Then the awful day when her frail body was merged with the beast. Its terror and rage swamped her, as its molecules flowed within her human frame. The pain was indescribable, every muscle swelling and cramping. The child was swept away in a sea of blackness. But she had clung on to her individuality, despite the roaring of the beast in her mind. Sensing her presence, the beast had calmed.
Strange dreams followed. She felt herself running on all fours, her great limbs powering her across the plain at terrible speed. Then the leap to the back of the deer, her fangs closing on its neck, dragging it down, warm blood filling her mouth. She almost lost herself in the blood-memory – but she clutched the tiny spark that was Ustarte.
She remembered the day she became aware of voices. ‘This new Kraloth does not conform, Lord. It sleeps twenty hours, and when awake seems confused. We have noted tremors in the muscles of its hind legs, and occasional spasms.’
‘Kill it,’ came a second voice, harsh and cold.
‘Aye, Lord.’
The thought of dying flooded Ustarte with a burst of energy, and her spirit flowed up from the dark recesses of the bestial body. She felt again the pull of the flesh, the power of the muscles in her four limbs. Her eyes opened. She reared up, trying to speak. A low, guttural growl rippled from her throat. Her paws struck at the iron bars of the cage. A man in a green tunic pushed a long stick through the bars. Something sharp and bright upon the end of it stabbed into her flesh. Fire flowed into her flanks.
Instinctively she knew it was poison. How she dealt with it remained a mystery to her to this day. She could only assume that the merging had created in her an unforeseen talent, enhancing her lymphatic pathways in such a way that she could draw the poison into her system, breaking it down into component parts and subtly changing it.