He tried to land upright, but the ground stole his feet, and he rolled in the dirt. A fence post of the corral caught him short. Fouled in his cloak, muddy, and somewhat bruised, Gerrard staggered up and turned to see his crew land.
Sisay soared up beside him, flung her cloak out to catch one last hold on the air, and landed easily on her feet. Tahngarth came to ground like a great black comet. He flopped facefirst, his horns digging twin furrows in the dirt. Chamas, Tallakaster, Fewsteem, Dabis, and ilcaster arrived less gracefully than Sisay-but less catastrophically than Tahngarth.
Last of all alighted a thin, strong figure, who folded the cloak behind her as though she were used to having wings. "Sorry I'm late. Squee sent word you'd arrived and told me what you were up to. I figured you could use another fighter."
Gerrard only shook his head in disbelief. "Takara…"
Book III
Chapter 17
In the dark before dawn, a caravan moved slowly away from Mercadia, through circling walls of stone and garbage. Gerrard and his companions trailed in its wake. Here in the shadow of the mountain, the ground was dry enough to produce dust, which masked the rebels and their stolen Jhovalls.
The corral Gerrard had landed next to had turned out to belong to the city guard. He had "borrowed" several mounts from the stables. It seemed poetic justice. The guard was in such disarray they were unlikely to miss the Jhovalls until it was far too late to do anything about the theft. "They should have learned from my training," Gerrard told himself dryly, spitting dust from his teeth. It was not the first or last time he would spit on that long, dusty journey.
Despite the inevitable grit, Weatherlight's crew members rode with a glad ease. For Gerrard and Tahngarth, the journey meant freedom after long incarceration. For Sisay, it was a chance to negotiate with sword instead of word. For Dabis, Tallakaster, Fewsteem, Chamas, and Ilcaster, the smell of clean dirt was welcome after months in the perfumed fetor of Mercadia. All were glad to be riding-and soon, fightingtogether. It was like old times.
Only Takara rode apart. Since her mysterious arrival, she had hung back in the pack, lending aid where it was required but offering little comment. Perhaps she sensed the crew's growing distrust of her. Perhaps she knew that Gerrard no longer welcomed her advice. The others left the fiery Rathi alone. By the dawn of the second day, her reticence was beginning to wear on her comrades.
In the dusty morning, Gerrard's curiosity at last awakened. He let his Jhovall fall back among the other steeds until he came even with Takara. Keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead, Gerrard said, "You've been pretty quiet on this trip."
Takara's mount stalked easily forward. "Yes."
"Is something bothering you?" Gerrard pressed. "You seemed happy enough to join us."
"My father is dead."
Gerrard's eyes grew wide. He stammered, "H-He's dead?"
"Murdered in the infirmary. It was one of those Ramosan assassins."
"Ramosan… assassins?" Gerrard echoed amazedly.
"The city is rife with them. The guards are worthless. They haven't the first clue where to find the killer."
Gerrard's eyes followed the rumpled ground. "I'm sorry, Takara. I shouldn't have… intruded on your grief."
"Oh, I don't grieve," she said bitterly. "I never grieve. I only hate. I'm going to corner the man who killed my father. I'm going to wrap my fingers around his neck and rip his throat out." She turned her gaze toward Gerrard. Her eyes were as sharp as poniards. "Do you know where the Ramosans hide out?"
Pursing his lips, Gerrard said quietly, "No, I couldn't help you there."
Jaw flexing grimly, Takara peered toward the front of the caravan. "Aren't you needed up there?"
Gerrard nodded, nudging his Jhovall with his heels. "I'm sorry to have intruded on your… on your hatred."
Two days out, the caravan they'd been following turned off to the north. The Weatherlight brigade continued to the west. The directions to Ouramos, such as Gerrard had managed to ascertain, were tantalizingly vague. The Cho-Arrim had provided their best map scrolls, but even those were only approximates. By Sisay's reckoning, a Jhovall journey of five days west, bearing along the line of the Great Scales at darkest night, would bring them in sight of the fabled place.
The plains rose in a long, gentle slope and then fell away into a valley. At the far end, the road curved through a series of high paths. The earth was very black and moist but with surprisingly little vegetation. The road they followed grew narrower and less used. Finally, they could follow it only by tracking along a widely spaced series of huge, gray stones on its edge.
At the mouth of a wide, swampy gorge, Gerrard halted, and the others stopped behind him.
"What's the matter?" Sisay wiped her forehead.
The day had been hot, and the sun was only just beginning to sink into the south, amid a striated series of clouds. They were facing a long passage between two mesas. The high cliffs, made of blood-red rocks, dropped to foul-smelling fens at their feet. Drowned forests stood white amid marshy grasses. Clouds of insects hovered in the air. The stillness and the unpleasant odor that lingered in the air contributed to the atmosphere of rot and decay that hung over everything and bore down on the travelers.
Gerrard said, "We're not alone here." He looked at Tahngarth.
The minotaur nodded. "Yes. Someone is watching us."
"Who?" Instinctively, the party drew their mounts closer together, and Gerrard loosened his sword in its sheath.
Before the minotaur could reply, a black shape surged up from behind a dead tree that bordered the road. As it raced toward them, it gave an unearthly, ululating cry. The shout was echoed a few seconds later by other creatures emerging from the swampy forest. They rose from the muck, gray-skinned manifestations of it. Once men, these withered and shambling monsters were draped in whatever clothes had survived the ravages of rot. Here and there, bone showed through sloughing flesh. The creatures shrieked as they stormed the party. Their screams rebounded from the white ghosts of drowned trees.
"Deepwood ghouls!" Takara shouted as her sword raked free.
Tahngarth's striva slashed off the head of the foremost ghoul. Rather than collapsing, the body of the creature pushed its way blindly forward, groping in a horrid parody of human action. Its arms embraced Tahngarth's Jhovall. The six-legged tiger-creature reared, slashing its forepaws across gray flesh. Claws tore open the undead thing's belly, as if ripping a sack of old leather. Out tumbled desiccated organs. Parts quivered on the ground, but still the ghoul raked forward.
With a shout of disgust, Tahngarth kicked the headless monster away from him.
Another group of ghouls converged from the other side of the road.
Swiftly Weatherlight's crew backed their steeds into a circle. Swords menaced above the snarling and spitting heads of the Jhovalls.
The ghouls showed no fear, leaping inward.
Sisay bent from her saddle, thrusting her blade into the heart of the nearest ghoul. Steel crackled through dead flesh and snapped ribs as though they were twigs. Her sword sunk deep. A full foot of blade protruded from the monster's back. It kept coming. Its decaying fingers gripped Sisay about her waist and pulled her down into the dust. White bones with shredded flesh sank into Sisay's neck. It squeezed, strangling her.
A Jhovall bounded up beside her, and a sword flashed down. Gerrard's blade slashed the arm from the ghoul's body. From the other side, Fewsteem attacked with a heavy mace. Spikes fell, impaling the thing's skull. Powdery brain ghosted out on the air. The strike smashed the ghoul's body to the earth.