“He is not far ahead,” I said, swinging back into the saddle.
“Good. Then I will kill him.”
“Maybe you could just arrest him.”
“Arrest him?”
“Take him prisoner.”
“No. I will kill him and take back the talisman.”
I figured she would too.
The trail widened and so did our view. Up there in the mountains, nowhere near its peak, but right in front of us at the far end of the wide trail, we could see the city of the bird-men. The great trees there had grown, or been groomed, to twist together in a monstrous wad of leaves and limbs, and mixed into them was a rock fortress that must have taken thousands of bird-men and a good many years to build. It was like a castle and a nest blended together with the natural formations of the mountain; in places it was rambling, in others tight as a drum.
I said, “Before we come any closer, we had best get off this trail and sneak up on our man. If we can jump him before he enters the city, then that’s the best way, and if he is inside already, well, it’s going to be difficult, to put it mildly.”
Jerrel nodded, and just as we rode off the trail and into the dark forest, a horde of bird-men came down from the sky and into the thicket with a screech and a flash of swords.
Surprised, we whirled on our mounts and struck out at them. It was like swatting at yellow jackets. I managed to stick one of the creatures and cause him to fall dead, but as he fell his body struck me and knocked me off my mount. I hustled to my feet just as Jerrell ducked a sword swing, but was hit in the head by the passing hilt of the sword. She fell off her beast and onto her back and didn’t move.
I went savage.
I remember very little about what happened after that, but I was swinging my sword with both skill and insane fury. Bird-men lost wings and limbs and faces and skulls. My sword stabbed and slashed and shattered. I was wet and hot with the blood of my enemies.
To protect themselves they flapped their wings, lifted up higher, and dove, but they were never quick enough and were hindered by the thickness of the trees and my speed was beyond measure. I leaped and dodged, parried and thrust. I raged among the flapping demons like a lion among sheep.
Finally it was as if all the bird-men in the world appeared. The sky darkened above me and the darkness fell over me, and down they came in a fluttering wave of screeches and sword slashes and axe swings.
I was a crazed dervish. I spun and slung my blade like the Reaper’s scythe, and once again they began to pile up, but then I was struck in the head from the side, and as I tumbled to the ground, I thought it was the end of me.
I couldn’t have been down but for a moment when I felt a blade at my throat and heard a voice say, “No. Bring him.”
Jerrel and I were lifted up and carried. My sword was gone. I was bleeding. I saw walking before the pack of bird-men, Tordo, Jerrel’s traitorous uncle.
We were hoisted out of the forest and onto the trail, carried up toward the amazing twists of forest and stone. As we neared I saw small clouds of smoke rising from stone chimneys, and in loops of groomed limbs I saw large nests made of vines and sticks and all manner of refuse. The nests were wide open, but they were built under the great limbs and leaves of trees that served as a roof. Beyond them there was an enormous tree, the biggest I had seen on my world or this one, and there was a gap in it that served as an opening into the city proper. A great drawbridge had been dropped, and it stretched out over a gap between trees and mountain, and the gap was wide and deep beyond comprehension. Over the drawbridge we were carried, and into the great fortress of wood and stone.
My thought was that Jerrel was already dead and I was next, and let me tell you true as the direction north, I didn’t care if I died. With Jerrel lost, I wished to die.
As it turned out, I didn’t die. And neither did Jerrel. I didn’t realize she was alive until we found ourselves in the bowels of the fortress in a prison that was deep inside the cave of a tree; a series of metal bars served as our doorway. Looking through the bars I could see a long corridor that was also the inside of a tree, and there were two guards nearby, one with a lance, one with an axe, both with expressions that would make a child cry.
In our cell they dropped us down on some limbs and leaves that served as beds. There was a peculiar odor. The only thing I can equate it with is the smell of a henhouse on a hot, damp afternoon.
I knelt over Jerrel, lifted her head gently. “My love,” I said.
“My head hurts,” she said. The sound of her voice elated me.
“I guess so. You took quite a lick.”
She sat up slowly. “Are you okay?”
“I got a bump myself, behind my ear.”
She gingerly touched it with the tips of her fingers. “Ow,” she said.
“My sentiments exactly. What I don’t understand is why they didn’t kill us.”
“I think, in my case, my uncle wants me to see the ceremony.”
“What ceremony?”
“The linking of the two halves of the talisman. The acquisition of the greatest power on our planet. He wants me to see what he has achieved before he puts me to death. Wants me to know the deed is done, and I have failed to prevent it, then we die.”
“If you ain’t dead, you’re living, and that’s a good thing,” I said.
It took her a moment to take that in. It was as if whatever power allowed my words to be translated to her language had lost a beat. After a moment she laughed her musical laugh. “I think I understand.”
“We won’t give up until we’re beyond considering on the matter one way or the other,” I said.
“I love you, Jack,” she said.
“And I you.” We allowed ourselves a kiss. Yet, in spite of my bravado, in spite of the repeating of my old sergeant’s words, I feared it might be our last.
“Love is a wonderful steed,” said a voice, “ride it as long as you can.”
We looked up, and there above us, sitting on a ridge of stone was a bird-man, his feet dangling. He looked youngish, if I can claim any ability of judging the age of a man who looks a lot like a giant chicken crossed with the body of a man. A very weak-looking chicken. He appeared near starved to death. His head hung weak. His ribs showed. His legs were skinny as sticks, but there was still something youthful about him.
“Who are you?” I asked. It wasn’t a brilliant question, but it was all I had.
“Gar-don,” he said, and dropped off the ledge, his wings taking hold with a fanning of air. He settled down near us, his legs weak and shaky. He sat down on the floor, his head sagged, he sighed. “I am a prisoner, same as you.”
“Gar-don,” Jerrel said. “The former king’s son. His heir.”
“That was how it was supposed to be, but no longer. I was usurped.”
“Canrad,” said Jerrel.
“Yes,” Gar-don said, “now he is king. And I am here, awaiting the moment when he is able to acquire the rest of the talisman, and from what I overheard, that moment has arrived.”
“Yes,” Jerrel said. “For all of us. I am Jerrel, Princess of Sheldan.”
Gar-don lifted his head, took a deep breath, said, “I know of you. I am sorry for your fate, and his.”
“Jack,” I said. “I am called Jack.”
“I shall go out as a prince,” Gar-don said. “I will not beg. My horror is not my death but what the two halves of the talisman can do. Canrad will possess immense power.”
“What does this power do?” I asked.
“We only have legend to explain it to us. It gives him the power over spirits and demons from the old trees.”
“The old trees?” I said.
“Giant trees that contain spirits of power,” Jerrel said. “Those kinds of trees no longer exist. They ceased to exist before I was born, before my father was born, his grandfather and so on. The spirits are contained in the two halves of the talisman.”