The head jerked back. Air hissed like a venting fumarole in the night as jennas chopped half through the long, snaky neck with a slash of her greatsword.
Stinking black fluid spattered over Fost. The shattered beak opened and closed in mute agony as the head flopped at random on the half-severed neck. The monster waddled back two steps and slid over the river bank. Fost ran forward to see it come to rest partly in the water. It kicked twice, trying futilely to make one last attack. Then the light went from its eyes and it lay still. Fost turned and threw up. After a time he felt Jennas's touch on his shoulder. 'Are you hurt?'
He felt as if the left side of his back had been splashed with liquid fire.
'Not seriously.' He gratefully accepted a sip of water from her canteen, rinsed the warm water around his mouth and spat.
'A new War of Powers is in the offing. My divinations are being proven correct,' Jennas said solemnly. 'Evil creatures go abroad on the planet again, as the Dark Ones make plans to reclaim their dominion.' The world spun around Fost.
'No, no, no,' he repeated over and over in stubborn denial. He wouldn't live in a world where the gods took active part in the affairs of men and where powers beyond comprehension played and lost human beings – and monsters – like pawns.
'I've heard of such giant birds before,' he managed to choke out as bile rose in his throat. 'Nonsense.' The cap of Erimenes's jug had slipped off in the fracas. The genie's column of mist wavered by Fost's side. The shade eyed him disdainfully. 'The natural helldiver is appropriately named. They were too common in my day, though I gather they've died off.' He gestured at the Black River, murmuring unseen in the growing darkness. 'But that bird is strictly a salt water creature. Might I point out that the Black River is fresh this far up from the ocean?'
Still Fost shook his head, too tired for words, mutely denying that which he could not bear. With surprising gentleness jennas took his hand and helped him rise.
Grutz and Chubchuk hunched like fat gargoyles at the edge of the bank. Fost heard an odd, low moaning, an uneasy despairing sound that he took first for a roaring within his head and then for the wind in the reeds. But as his head cleared he realized it came from the bears. The long hairs on their necks and shoulders stood up like spiked harnesses and their wicked yellow teeth were bared toward the water.
Clutching Jennas's shoulder, Fost staggered to the bank's edge and looked down at… nothing. 'See?' Jennas said. 'It's gone.'
Fost pulled away.
'That doesn't mean anything. It slid into the water and was carried away by the current. The river's swift here.'
'No, look at the grass, Longstrider. The monster fell flat. The grass is crushed in all directions. Had it slipped into the water the grass would lie in that direction.'
The courier squinted. The lesser moon peeked up from the horizon, Omizantrim piercing its side like a dagger. Its rosy light showed black smears on the grass with steam rising in wisps from it. As Jennas said, the grass had been mashed down straight. His knees gave way beneath him. 'Gods!' he cried.
'Yes.' Jennas was as grim as an executioner. 'The gods. And we are bound to fight their battles for them.'
CHAPTER SIX
The path into the Mystic Mountains was little more than a haunting memory. When the low, humped foothills had started to grow into jagged mountains the party had hesitated for a moment among the stunted ugly bushes of the ravine where the trail had petered out. Moriana stared up into the heights while the others rested their dogs and sweated.
Finally she said, 'This way,' and rode on. The party that followed her was three less than that which had stopped.
So it had gone. Half the remaining contingent had deserted after the death of latic Stormcloud. Though what had happened was apparent enough to all, and though Darl argued in Moriana's favor with all his old skill and verve, more than twenty knights and footmen had turned their mounts to the northwest and ridden back for the River Marchant and the City States of the Empire that lay beyond. This journey lay under far too many ill omens for even the strong of heart.
Another factor entering into the dwindling of Moriana's force was the cultural background of the men. These were northern men unused to women who could slay warriors as strong as the young mercenary captain with their bare hands. By her own testimony Moriana was a sorceress. Stormcloud's death convinced a number of her followers she was a witch.
Others had lost battles with conscience or courage as they neared the ramparts of the Mystic Mountains, low and uninviting. Now besides herself and Darl, who remained in a state of watchful quiet that was less alarming than his earlier detachment, Moriana's retinue consisted of five dog riders and eight footmen. All left in her band now, for reasons of their own, were not afraid to penetrate the citadel of mankind's ancient enemy.
She questioned none of them as to their motives. The princess wasn't sure she wanted to know why they chose to accompany her. All her attention had to be directed forward – and up, up into the Mystic Mountains.
The path mounted quickly along crooked switchbacks up almost sheer granite faces, straightening out now and again to follow the spine of razor-thin ridge.
'The drop – it must be five hundred feet,' came a fearful voice from behind. Moriana didn't turn to see who spoke.
'No, not five hundred,' came still another voice. 'By the gods, it has to be closer to a thousand.' The second speaker laughed boisterously, an action not shared by the others in the party.
For Moriana, a mere thousand-foot drop was like home. In the Sky City she often peered out from the forward prow down at the terrain as it slowly slid beneath her. No one in the City in the Sky harbored any fear of heights, not when their everyday existence depended on separation of City and ground of at least a thousand feet. Her training aboard the war eagles had accustomed her to much loftier vantage points with even less substantial footing than that enjoyed by the dog she rode.
'Your men fear,' came Ziore's quiet voice from the pouch at Moriana's side. 'Is there nothing you can do to calm them?'
'You are the emphatic one,' pointed out the blonde-haired princess.
'I have tried. It is a wearying job. The fears of several of the men are acute.' 'Those from the forest of Nevrym?' hazarded Moriana.
'Yes. They are more accustomed to the closeness of their forests. The precipitous drops of these mountains work against their courage.'
'With luck, we won't have much longer on the trail.' Her fingers lightly touched the hidden black and white stone of the Amulet around her neck.
'Darl bears up well,' added Ziore, almost as an afterthought. 'He returns to his former self.' 'With a little help from your powers?' asked Moriana.
'With very little help from my powers,' corrected the genie. 'He heals himself. It is for the best.'
Moriana fell silent then, not wanting to speak further, even with Ziore. She no longer knew what was for the best. All she knew was what she had to do. Right, wrong, it made no difference. It was what she had to do.
She fell into the slight rolling motion of the dog between her legs as the creature struggled to climb ever higher into the mountains.
The sharp igneous rock of the mountains cruelly punished the pads of the dogs' feet, causing them to become slippery with blood. On trails often no wider than a strong man's shoulders such poor footing could be fatal. Knowing something of the geology of the Mystic Mountains, Moriana had prepared for this.
'Halt!' cried Moriana after another hour of upward struggle. 'Rest a while in the clearing beyond.' She pointed ahead to what amounted to little more than a widening in the narrow trail. But the area proved a narrow canyon leading back into a sparse stand of trees. A small spring spurted from rocks and provided a much needed diversion from the sight of nothing but hard volcanic rocks.