Down the twisting road careened the two-wheeled juggernaut haled by three steeds, the double-tongued chariot veering, swerving, jolting down the crooked way, the slash of the whip cracking through the air.
Elyn grasped Thork’s arm and drew him to the cover of a large boulder, and from its protection they watched as the vehicle raced downward, vaguely illuminated by the torchlight shining down from the walls above. But it was quickly lost to Elyn’s vision as it thundered down the lower slopes and out upon the flat, hammering toward the curve bending away to the north. But just as it pounded past, of a sudden the driver haled back hard upon the reins, nearly causing the steeds to stumble and fall, their squeals of pain ringing through the night as they slid to a halt.
And the driver stood tall in the chariot and cast about, as if he had sensed something, as if he were vile hound seeking after an elusive scent. And he turned his head this way and that, searching for something. . or someone.
With his Dwarven vision, Thork could see that the coursers that drew the chariot were Hèlsteeds! Like a horse but not a horse: creatures of the night, they suffered the Ban; snakelike eyes with slitted pupils; scaled tails; cloven hooves; slower than a swift horse but with endurance beyond knowing; another of Gyphon’s creations from Neddra. And the driver was an Elf, or mayhap a Man. Thork could not tell. The only other he had seen of this kind was-The Wolfmage! This, then, was a Wizard as well. Andrak!
“Andrak,” hissed Thork to Elyn.
Air sucked in through her clenched teeth, and she drew Thork down behind the boulder, her hand to her neck clenching the silveron stone.
Long they waited, and no one moved, neither Elyn nor Thork nor what or who was on the road. Yet at last the stalemate was broken, for the middle Hèlsteed grunted and shifted its stance, and the other two ’Steeds in triple-harness squealed in rage, and bit at the first. The Elf, the Man, cursed and lashed at the creatures, and furious, loosed his rein upon the beasts, whipping them in a frenzy. And down the road they hammered, northward, Hèlsteeds squalling in pain, whip cracking in wrath, obscenities shouted into the night.
After a time passed, Elyn and Thork stood, the Dwarf’s eyes seeking to see the chariot. But it had vanished, racing along the course northward upon some unknown mission.
“He sensed us, Princess,” grunted Thork. “Mayhap he has power over the stone you bear.”
“Mayhap,” responded Elyn quietly, “yet it is all that we have to protect us in yon dark holt.”
“Nay, Lady,” said Thork, “not all, for we also have our wits and weaponry.”
Elyn smiled. “Aye, Warrior, wits and weaponry, and no little skill.”
Once more the two started for the castle, wiping out tracks behind, now stepping upon the surface of the road leading to the fortress. And they cast aside the scrub brooms and hefted missile weapons: Elyn her bow; Thork his crossbow. And up the twisting way they passed, stealthily, slowly, keeping to the deepest of shadows; and time slipped beyond recall as they went up the road of the companion spire, at one place coming to a set of stone steps leading upward through the darkness to the top of the mount-these they ignored, keeping to the way that they had seen used.
At last they came slipping through the shadows to the very top, to the drawbridge now spanning from the small spire to the larger, a bridge that slid upon tracks on the far side, haled by winches and cables, jutting across to allow passage. No guards were posted, and upon this wooden way they crept, above a fearsome fall. From the span they could see torches ringing the ramparts, and they noted the enshadowed movements of warders patrolling above.
At the far end of the bridge they came to stand upon the top of the larger spire, and the bulwarks of the fortress loomed in the darkness before them. They could see where a gateway stood in the western wall, for the yellow fire of flaming brands shone out through the portal, forming a large arch of light sputtering upon the capstone of the spire. Quietly they stepped along the roadway, a black stone fortress wall looming to their right, a sheer drop plummeting to their left. And they glided alongside the bulwark, keeping to the shadows at its base, slipping forward silently below the overhang, light shining down through arrow loops and murder holes to dimly illume the way before them.
Now they came unto the gate opening, where the wall they followed opened rightward into the portal, the passage beyond their vision. Handing her bow to Thork, Elyn lay on her stomach and cautiously peered around the angle. The portcullis was down, the great iron grille standing across the way. Flaming cressets lit the way below the barbican, and in the shelter of the arch on this side of the barway stood a guard, a Rutch, scimitar in hand. And in that instance there came a shout from atop the wall.
The slap of iron-shod boot rang upon the ramparts, and a clamant uproar sounded from within. Commands snarled from the barbican, and Rutchen warriors scrambled to obey.
Elyn scurried hindward, and she and Thork drew back against the stone of the wall. Swiftly Thork set their bows aside and they armed themselves for mêlée-saber and axe-as horns blatted and unseen Spawn clotted and scattered within. Yet, amid the clamor, Elyn heard that which made all the other moot: the crack of a whip and the rattle of iron rims racing up the stone road.
“Andrak!” she hissed. “He comes, and unless we move we are fordone!”
At that very moment there came a great clatter of gears, and from the archway sounded the squeal of iron screeching upward; the portcullis was being raised. Running footsteps slapped upon cobblestone, and a squad of torch-bearing Rutcha and Drōkha burst forth from the portal and rounded the corner. Elyn whipped her saber up to the guard position, and Thork brought his axe to the ward as well. Yet the running Spawn raced past without a glance, though the two now stood in plain view.
Louder sounded the crack of whip and the rattle of chariot, as up the lesser spire raced the squealing Hèlsteeds, drawing nigh the top.
“Come, Thork,” sissed Elyn, “’tis the silveron stone or nought!”
Catching up their bows, ’round the corner and into the gateway stepped the twain, into the torchlight. The Rutch guard stood before them, facing outward, yet his eyes seemed to look everywhere but directly at them. And behind, the shouting Rutcha and Drōkha fell into formation, flanking the near end of the bridge. And the chatter of iron-rimmed chariot wheels, the slash of whip, the squeal of Hèlsteeds, and the obscenities of a raging driver drew up onto the top of the lesser spire.
Glancing at Thork, Elyn stepped forward, ready to slay the warder, Thork coming after. The Rutch paid no heed, and the two swiftly strode past, under the barbican and into the open bailey. Behind, they could hear the booming of the bridge as the chariot raced over its surface. Arrayed before them in the light of burning cressets atop hand-held standards were two ranks of standing Rutchen guards as well as corpse-white Guula mounted upon Hèlsteeds, drawn up and awaiting the arrival of their vile master, forming a path through which he would drive.
And not an eye flickered in the direction of these intruders.
But a Hèlsteed-drawn chariot could be heard hurtling toward the portal.
Glancing leftward, in a great black building conjoined with the northwest quadrant of the inner wall, Elyn espied an open doorway and dashed for it, Thork at her heels. And just as they scurried within and leftward, the chariot thundered into the courtyard, racing past, wheels slamming across the bailey cobbles, Andrak’s merciless whip flailing, the Hèlsteeds plunging through the wayguard corridor and toward the base of a tall ebon tower abutted ’gainst the southeast corner of the wide ramparts.