“I don’t hear anything,” Vascay said to Garric in a low voice.
“I do,” said Garric. “It’s very high, a squeal or…It’s like metal rubbing.”
Or worse. The instrument the Archai used to announce themselves had grated on Garric’s nerves, but this felt like someone drilling behind his eyeballs.
The Archai heard it also. The one cranking the machine worked faster while a companion chittered at him. The third Archa ran toward the rear of the millipede with stiff, jerky strides as though his legs were stilts. He disappeared at last, hidden by the creature’s slow curves.
Metron and three Archai at the millipede’s head began to argue in the insects’ high-pitched form of speech. One of them was the driver, his triangular head rotated to face back over his narrow shoulders.
“Ready your weapons, boys!” Vascay called. “It looks like we’re going to have some excitement.”
He stepped closer to Garric and gestured toward the millipede’s tail with his javelin. “Any more Brethren down that way, lad?” he asked.
“No,” said Garric. He drew his sword, wishing he had a whetstone to touch up the blade. Carus—and therefore Garric—had always carried a small stone beside the dagger on the other side of his belt from the sword scabbard, but Ceto hadn’t been as careful of his tools.
“Right,” said Vascay quietly. “Then let’s join the others. I think we’ll do better to stay close for the next while.”
They stepped forward. Vascay walked easily now, no longer concerned about his footing. He twirled his remaining javelin like a baton between the fingers of one hand, then those of the other.
Two of the Archai stopped arguing with Metron and rushed toward the millipede’s hindquarters. The driver faced frontward again; Metron began drawing words around the heptagram he’d already sketched on the creature’s glossy black armor.
Thalemos spoke. The wizard ignored him. Thalemos tried again, then straightened stiffly and marched back to join the bandits just as Garric and Vascay arrived. Several of the men eyed him with hostility.
“Lord Thalemos, do you have any idea of what’s going on?” Garric asked, speaking in part to make the youth “one of us” in the minds of the Brethren.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know any more about this than you do,” Thalemos said. “Metron has been too busy to keep me informed.”
His voice sounded thin. The young nobleman was irritated at being treated disrespectfully, Garric guessed; but he was too well bred to admit the fact, especially since Metron probably was busy trying to save them. To save Metron’s own life, anyway, but the rest of them might benefit.
Something was running beside them in the forest. It stayed parallel to the millipede’s course and about a bowshot distant, a repeated flicker of movement glimpsed through the great grass stems.
“Look there,” Garric said, pointing with his left hand.
“They’re on the this side too,” said Halophus, his voice rising. “They’re closing in!”
The shriek at the bounds of audibility sounded again. It seemed closer this time, but Garric couldn’t tell which direction it came from. The figure he’d spotted in the near distance finally came into full view.
It looked like a corpse wrapped in its winding sheet; it had neither legs nor arms, but it coursed effortlessly over the broken ground at a pace no man could have matched for long. Two similar figures came out of the forest behind the first, all closing on the millipede.
There was a jangle of gold: an Archa had tossed a boarding ladder over the millipede’s side. The links jounced against one another and the creature’s armor. The Archa climbed down though the ladder was swinging wildly as the millipede strode forward.
The Archa leaped when it neared the ground, meeting the trio of shrouded attackers with a flurry of its saw-edged forelimbs. The sharp chitin ripped through the skin of the first of the strange creatures, letting out pale ichor and coils of violet intestine.
A fog of light spread from the other pursuers to bathe the Archa, searing the warrior black where it touched. The Archa shrilled in agony, but its forelegs were still chopping into a second shrouded figure when the millipede Carried Garric out of sight of the battle.
“There’s more of ’em coming,” said Toster, rubbing the flat of his axe on his tunic sleeve as he looked into the forest.
Despairing cries from the other side drew the humans’ heads around. Riding the millipede was like being on shipboard: if you were on one railing, you couldn’t tell what was happening near the opposite side of the hull. Another of the Archa warriors was gone, presumably over the side to sacrifice itself against their attackers.
“I don’t like the bugs,” Toster said quietly. “Those things like slime molds’re worse, though.”
The attackers did look a little like slime molds, Garric realized. The disemboweled one had seemed to be an animal, but there was nothing in this place Garric would’ve wanted to swear to.
He smiled with the dark humor he’d picked up when King Carus shared his mind. Silently he added, Least of all that I’m going to leave it alive.
A dozen shrouded creatures were approaching from the right side. Across the millipede’s back Halophus cried, “Ten! Thirteen! Oh may the Shepherd guard me, the woods’re full of them!”
The Archa pumping the levers of the strange machine redoubled its efforts. His fellow rotated his head from one side to the other, then sprang to the left and disappeared over the millipede’s side. From the suddenness of the Archa’s decision, it was probably committing suicide rather than making a real attempt to solve a hopeless problem.
“I could take one down,” Vascay mused, tapping the javelin gently into the palm of his hand. “But I think I’ll wait, eh? For a better target.”
“Better, sir?” asked Thalemos.
The chieftain smiled. “For a target that might make a difference,” he said. “Cheer up, lad. We haven’t been hung yet.”
Metron shouted, “Sieche!” and held the sapphire above the figure he’d drawn. Blue wizardlight flared in sheets, tearing out of the sky and through the waving grass.
The Archa at the machine shrieked. Crackles of azure light enveloped the gold, shrivelling the Archa like an ant dropped on live coals. The gears began to whir at a speed that concealed all but shimmers.
Garric felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck and arms. He wasn’t sure whether that was a natural response to what he was watching or if a thunderbolt was gathering to strike.
The millipede continued to pace onward as before, but the surrounding forest shifted. The light went from a wan mixture of browns and greens to a red almost too deep to register on Garric’s eyes. The trunks seemed to grow broader, then went gray; the landscape vanished into a moving blur like the flow of a spillway. Bandits cried out, and Garric heard the moaning call of Halophus’ horn.
Metron slumped, his right arm under his body and his left with the ring stretched out toward the millipede’s head. The forest began to come back into focus; daylight regained its normal hue.
Garric staggered but caught himself. His eyes’d been tricked by the appearance of the landscape slowing down, but his body didn’t feel the change in motion. Beside him Hame fell to his knees and cursed.
Vascay touched Garric’s arm and nodded toward Metron. The wizard had slipped slightly. His left hand twitched, trying to grip the gold net but unable to close properly.
Garric sheathed his sword and started forward. Thalemos tried to follow him but swayed dangerously. Vascay grabbed the youth’s arm and held him despite his attempts to jerk free.
Garric didn’t like or trust Metron, but they needed him: he caught the wizard by the shoulders and lifted him upright. Metron’s face was blank. His eyes focused on Garric, but there was no understanding behind them.