‘Make no sudden movements,’ he whispered need-lessly.
At first, nothing seemed to be happening, and Hawklan screwed up his eyes in the unpleasant globelight to scan the steps and ladders that would carry him to the chamber floor quickly. He pulled his gloves tight. Once or twice, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw tiny figures flitting about the chamber, but when he turned to look directly at them, there was nothing there.
Then the mass began to quiver again and Hawklan felt the beginning of the dreadful noise curling into his mind. But this time, as it grew, it changed. It was the same and yet different in some way that he could not identify. The hatred that filled it was in some way being sated, and filled with a deep, satisfied, lethargy. The quivering ceased but the noise continued like a loathsome lullaby.
Andawyr tapped him and nodded towards the birds. As he looked, he saw their eyes were slowly closing. Quickly he looked again at the route he must take should the Alphraan need him.
Then all the eyes were closed and Hawklan waited expectantly.
‘The hold is tenuous,’ said the Alphraan, very softly. ‘And taxes us greatly. Strike now, Hawklan. The rest of you be silent and still.’
Before the voice had ended, Hawklan was on his feet and racing silently along the narrow ledge. He reached the first vertical ladder and almost slithered down it.
Dacu drew in a low breath and clenched his hands.
As he landed, Hawklan rolled over the edge of the ledge.
Despite the Alphraan’s injunction, there was a gasp from the group.
But Hawklan was only lowering himself on to the ledge below; it would save him precious seconds.
Andawyr closed his eyes.
Then there was only one long ladder to reach the floor. Hawklan bounced down it four rungs at a time, silently and smoothly.
Landing, he turned and began the brief journey towards the bloated heart of the Vrwystin a Goleg, drawing the sword as he stepped delicately among the apparently sleeping birds.
As he reached the shapeless mass, the awful pres-ence of the creature nearly overwhelmed him, and even though it had been changed by the Alphraan into an eerie sleep song, the Vrwystin’s jabbering chorus still filled his head. Hawklan found himself struggling against an almost paralysing surge of anger and fear as he tried to lift the sword to begin his assault.
Abruptly, and without a sound, the bud that had produced the bird, swung up and pointed itself at him like a blind serpent. Hawklan hesitated, hypnotised by this eyeless intelligence.
The chorus in his head changed. He sensed the Al-phraan faltering but, out of the din, a tiny warning whisper darted towards him and, without thinking, he spun round, pressing himself flat against the wall. At the same instant the bud opened and spat out a stream of dark yellow fluid.
He watched in horror as the fluid landed on the floor. It hissed and bubbled for a moment and then sank out of sight into the hole it was dissolving. He tightened his grip of the sword and looked back at the bud. It had closed again but was moving from side to side as if searching.
The Vrwystin’s song changed again and Hawklan sensed a subtle stirring amongst the birds.
Still leaning against the wall, he raised the sword to strike off the bud. As he did so, a fine tendril emerged from the wall and wrapped itself around his other hand. He started at the sudden contact and was about to bring the sword down to sever it when he felt it begin to tighten.
With a frantic tug he tore his hand out of the glove. The tendril withdrew into the wall, cutting the glove in half.
Hawklan jumped away from the wall desperately, but when he turned he found himself staring into the mouth of the bud. It had a disgustingly voluptuous quality that both repelled and held him.
It was opening, he knew, but he knew also that his perceptions were racing far beyond the ability of his body to move. He would not be able to respond quickly enough. The image of the dissolving, bubbling rock, rose to cloud his vision and impede him further with its terror.
Suddenly, the bud juddered away from him. Some-thing had seized it. Hawklan heard the familiar snap of closing teeth.
Dar-volci!
Hawklan’s mind cleared. The felci had his powerful foreclaws about the stem of the bud and was trying to stretch it out and bite it. His fur was standing on end, his eyes were savage, and his lips were curled back to reveal his terrible teeth as Hawklan had never seen them before. It was an awesome sight.
For all its seeming dormancy, however, the Vrwystin was not defenceless. The stem writhed away from the felci’s murderous attack and the bud tried to turn towards him. The movement jerked Dar-volci off his feet and it was obvious that the response was far more powerful than he had expected.
‘The tendrils, Hawklan,’ he shouted making another snapping lunge at the twisting stem. ‘Cut the tendrils.’
The bud spat out another stream of fluid which Dar-volci only avoided by releasing the stem and leaping into the air. As he landed he seized the stem again just as it was retreating into the body of the Vrwystin. He tugged at it savagely, but as he twisted round to bite it, his grip slipped and it retreated again.
Hawklan lifted the sword to help in the ensuing struggle, but the felci was twisting and turning with incredible speed, his jaws snapping savagely, while the bud was writhing and spitting in vicious counter-attacks as it tried to withdraw. The combat was one of instinc-tive animal responses and was far too fast for Hawklan to intervene without risk of injuring the felci.
‘The tendrils, man!’ Dar-volci shouted again angrily in a momentary pause.
Abruptly, the Alphraan’s voice rang out in a plain-tive cry. ‘We are failing, Hawklan,’ it said. ‘It is too strong. We cannot maintain its awful dream. Strike now, in the name of pity… ’
Hawklan lifted the sword to hack through the quiv-ering tendrils, but as he did so the Vrwystin’s clamour changed again, and the sleeping birds suddenly rose up into the chamber in a swirling shrieking cloud, their blank yellow eyes wide.
The bud also seemed to gain new strength and Dar-volci, clinging onto the stem desperately, began to be drawn inexorably into the body of the Vrwystin. Some of the tendrils separated from the wall and began to wave about as if searching.
Hawklan swung the sword. It cut through several of the tendrils, but Hawklan felt a resistance seemingly quite disproportionate to their thickness and number.
He hacked through another cluster. The screaming of the birds around him intensified, though mingled with it he could now hear the Alphraan’s song. Some quality in it, however, told him that while they were still restraining the creature, a dreadful price was being paid, and soon they must fail utterly.
The birds in their erratic uncontrolled flight were beginning to crash into him painfully.
Dar-volci was still heaving on the steadily retreating stem, and swearing profoundly. Suddenly the stem flicked loose making him stagger backwards. As he scrabbled to recover his balance the stem flicked again and coiled a loop around him.
Several of the birds collided with Hawklan simulta-neously, sending him staggering.
Dar-volci cried out as the coil began to tighten.
‘Pull Dar!’ came a raucous shout from above. Hawk-lan looked up as he clambered back to his feet, flailing his arms against the blundering birds. Tumbling down from the high ledge was Gavor. He seemed to be falling like an untidy black bundle, but even amid the turmoil part of Hawklan soared at the consummate flying skill of the great raven as his seemingly disordered fall carried him unhindered through the swirling mass of yellow-eyed birds.
With a great cry of pain and fury, Dar-volci drove his back legs into the now pulsing body of the Vrwystin and heaved on the stem with one final effort. Slowly the stem was drawn out. Abruptly, Gavor’s tumbling fall became a swooping glide. With his great black wings extended, he arced around steeply to avoid the rock face then, with his legs swung forward, he skimmed past Dar-volci like a rushing wind.