I had reached the crest of a ridge bare of any growth, thus could look some distance ahead. There was no sign of either Gathea or Gruu—only bare rock. Not too far away a cliffside led upward again. I listened, wondering if cat and girl still struggled as I had to fight a way free of the trees and if I had outpaced them. There came no sound to tell me that was so. They might have been snatched up bodily or perhaps vanished through one of those “Gates” I had come to distrust.
Slowly I advanced across the open. The moon was on the wane; it offered just light enough to see the ground, where I tried to pick up some track left by either girl or cat. On this ledge of stone there was little hope of that.
So I approached the cliff’s foot to see what had not been visible from afar. Deep cut into the surface of the stone was a series of regular holes large enough for hands and feet. However, I could not believe that Gathea had taken this path with such speed as to be out of sight completely before I had reached the end of the wood. Surely, I would have seen her still climbing!
Like a hunter who has lost the trail, I cast about. If she were yet in the wood, then to go on would serve no purpose. Finally I had to accept that she was indeed beyond my finding—unless I tried that rude stairway.
Slinging the straps of both wallets over my shoulders, making sure that my sword and belt knife were well anchored in their sheaths, I began to climb. It was not easy, for I discovered that the spaces between those holds had been designed for someone taller than myself, so that I had to stretch to reach each hold. How Gathea might have managed this ascent confused me.
Doggedly I kept on and up, testing each fresh hollow before I shifted my weight. My fingers scooped deep into dust filling those pockets, so I become convinced that the girl had not come this way. However, I determined to get to the top and from there gain a wider view of the countryside.
Breathing hard, I pulled myself over the lip of that cliff, to stare ahead at what faced me. This was not the top of the rise—rather a platform ledge which had been leveled by the work of some intelligence.
What dominated that space towered so above me, that I had to hold my head well back to view it in entirety. Great skill had gone into its making. At the same time the very finish of that skill suggested that whoever, or whatever, had conceived such a portraiture had been of an alien turn of mind, perverse, ill-tuned to consort with my own kind.
The represented form, which had been cut from the cliffs face so deeply that it was enclosed in an arched niche, stood erect on hind feet. However, it had only its stance in common with human beings, for it was clearly avian in form, and just as clearly female—blatantly so. It went unclothed, unless a wide and ornate collar could be considered covering of a sort.
The slender legs were stretched far apart, and its hands were outstretched from the ends of upper limbs, reaching forward, while the face beneath an upstanding crest of tall feathers was barely like my own. There were two eyes, but these were overlarge and set slanting in the skull; also they had been inlaid with red stones, perhaps gems, which glowed in the dim light as if they carried at their core a spark of burning fire.
Those reaching hands were claw-fingered, taloned. Looking upon them I thought of that lump of torn flesh I had buried back on the plain, though these were not mere skin and bone as that had been.
The expression the unknown carver had given the face agreed with the menace suggested by those claws, for most of it was a great beak, slightly open as if to tear, while the whole of the upper part of the body stood framed by wings which drooped, only a quarter open, behind each thin shoulder.
Between those arching legs a dark hole had been left as a doorway into the cliff. As I crouched where I was, staring, from that black archway wafted an odor which was rank and foul. Some beast of unclean habits might well lair there. My gaze kept, in spite of me, returning to those red eyes. I had a growing uneasy feeling that something watched me.
I did not accept that Gathea had gone into that hole. This was no Moon Shrine with a feeling of peace and well being. No, this was as threatening as the Silver Singers, or those crawlers in the dark who had menaced us in our first camp on the plain.
Slowly I arose, and, with a real effort, broke the bond of gaze those eyes had laid upon me. I would not take that door the thing guarded. There must be another way ahead.
It was then I discovered I was averse to turning my back on that carved figure. The sense of a waiting intelligence had been so well caught by the sculptor I could believe that, stone or not, it only remained here at its own choice. Thus I moved along that wide ledge crab fashion, so I could both search for another path and yet keep a wary eye on the leering bird-female.
Here were no more carved handholds to aid my escape. At the northern end of the smoothed ledge there was, however, a break in the cliff which might afford me a way to climb beyond.
I had no more than reached that promising crevice and was giving a last wary look to the figure when there was a stirring within the dark hollow between its legs. I swung swiftly about, my back to the wall and my sword out. There was a rustling, and then a loud hoot.
Into the wan light crawled a thing misshapen and hunched. It crouched for a moment before pulling upward to stand on clawed feet. Unlike the figure which guarded its lair it was a male and much shorter—near bone thin, still it possessed the same talons, the same beak.
The head turned on crooked shoulders (it appeared to be deformed when compared with the statue—and closer to the alien even than that). Only its eyes were as red and glowing—and utterly evil!
Those wings sprouting from its shoulders did not open to the full as it came about to face me squarely. The creature seemed to use its pinions as a balance as it leaped at me, making for me, talons outstretched and ready. At the same moment it let loose a deep scream.
Now fanning the wings, it attacked. I was ready with my blade. Whether the thing had ever been fronted by a determined fighter before I could not tell, but it left itself open to my counterblows as if it had expected no opposition at all.
The cutting edge of my sword struck true, between the rise of one wing and the thing’s throat as its talons shredded the straps of the wallets, grated and scraped along my mail.
That head flopped onto the other shoulder as great gouts of dark stuff sprouted high, some drops hitting my hand, to sting my skin like fire. The creature stumbled back, striking fruitlessly into the air with both armored forepaws, wings now fully extended and beating hard so that their activity lifted it from the ledge and it was actually airborne. I thought that blow must bring death when it fell just as I aimed it, but it appeared far from ending our duel.
The head now dropped onto its chest, attached still to the body only by a strip of flesh and cartilage. Blood spouted fountain high about it as the creature came again at me. I might have to hew it to pieces to stop its attack.
Once more I struck, this tune bringing the blade down across one of those raking forepaws. The edge again cut through, so that the claw fell to the stone before me. Only—from the corner of my eye I saw, as I prepared to face the monster’s third rush—that severed hand now took on life of its own, crawling toward me as if the fingertips were legs of some noisome insect.
A great gout of blood from the severed wrist (which the thing still held out before it as if it yet possessed the missing talons to rake me down) spattered on my sword hand. Again flames not only licked my flesh but seared deeply. I kept hold of sword hilt by sheer will, through the path which continued to eat at me.
Perhaps this creature which would not die sensed or already knew my torment for it whirled its maimed arm in the air (keeping its body beyond my reach) spattering the dark blood outward. Flying drops stung my cheek; more brought flaming agony to my throat where there was no helm guard to protect me. I feared for my eyes when a third gout struck high on my cheekbone.
Still, in spite of my seared fingers, I attacked once more, coming in low so that the next shower of blood fell on my mail-covered back and shoulders. Protected thus, I struck upward into the belly of the thing, then leaped back, its blood running down me, living fire where it touched flesh.
There seemed no way of killing it. That ripping blow which had opened its body from ribs to crotch only added to the blood flow, as if I had broken through a filled water skin. I could not believe that the thick liquid which flowed so steadily, which spouted afar, would so long continue to drain from that thin body, as if, beneath its outer hide, this creature was hollow, filled only with blood. For its attacks it visibly depended more and more on wings for support. I must dare the spouting poison from its hurts to slash at those. Then I nearly lost my balance, skidding forward into the slippery pool of blood. Furiously I struck down at what had so near tripped me, caught on the point of my sword the living hand, to flick it away, even as the creature moved in, arms still outstretched, though surely, with its head dangling so upon its breast it could no longer see me.
In a way that attack by the crawling hand had saved me by sending me off to the side. For the thing fluttered to my right, near enough for me to risk a blow at the other wing. Again steel sheared straighter than I dared hope.
My attacker fell away, still flapping the maimed wing, the other one fanning air with great sweeps. That onesided effort dashed it into the side of the cliff, and it went down, sprawling forward. I leaped to strike the second wing, then stabbed downward between its shoulders.
A moment later, breathless, I reeled back against the cliff myself, watching in dull horror as that mutilated thing strove to rise, to come at me. While the full tide of its poisonous blood spread out and out and I cringed away from the deadly pool.
I thought the thing was helpless now. However, had it been the only one of its kind in the statue-guarded hole? There was no movement within, but if this creature was nocturnal its fellows might be already afield. The sooner I was away the better, though to try to climb the cliff with more winged monsters arriving to pluck at me was risky. I could only hope to be allowed to reach the top without another fight.
Letting my fouled sword hang from my wrist by its cord, not daring to allow the blood near my flesh, I wiped my blistered hand hastily against my breeches. The splashes which had struck my cheek burned agonizingly.
Catching up the wallets by their sheared straps, I knotted them to my belt, turning with all haste to the crack in the cliff’s surface. Fortune had decided to favor me, for, not far above, the crack widened out far enough so that I might edge my body into it, leaving very little chance for any other winged attacker to grasp or tear. The creature I had wounded was not dead. Still it flopped about, as if it would come at me.
The sight and the sound of that floundering body gave me fresh strength for escape, made me forget the pain in my hand as I hunted for holds to draw me up. My need to escape, to find some better defense than this tissue in the cliff face offered, lent me both the strength and speed to win to the very crest of the heights.
Here was a second gift of fortune. For on the plateau was a stand of trees. Toward those I went at a stumbling run, sure that the winged things, if more of them came, could not reach me beneath that roof of branch and leaf.
Even as I had forced my way through that wood below, so now I thrust forward into this one, eager to win under cover. At last I hunkered down between two trunks, grabbed handfuls of leaves to cleanse my sword as best I could, before opening my wallet to hunt out those salves which Zabina had packed for me. Breathlessly I rubbed sticky stuff first across the back of my hand and then along cheek and jaw.
Gradually the pain eased, and I only hoped to be free from the creature’s poison. Of that I could not be sure, for I began to shiver with a cold which was certainty not of the night. Also I retched and retched again, so shaken with nausea that my head whirled. Nor could I hold myself upright without clinging to a tree.
Maybe that poison also reached my mind, for I kept slipping to a daze during which all I saw was the cleft, scuttling up it that severed hand, still trailing blood, sent ahead like a hound to hunt for its master. Then I would become alert and aware, knowing dimly where I was. Yet I looked about me for that crawling thing, listening for a scrabbling sound announcing its coming.
I must have drifted in and out of such horrors for a lengthy time, for when I roused from a last dream in which the hand confronted me and I was too weak to draw my sword against it, day had arrived to lay patches of sun here and there on the ground, for these trees were not so tightly banded together as to shut out that welcome light. Thirst made an ache in my throat, and I drank from my water bottle, which I held with shaking hands.
The stench of those now dry stains which covered much of my mail front and back again brought sour bile rising in my throat. When I tried to get to my feet I discovered I must cling to the tree. My hand bore a brown brand across the back, which cracked when I moved my fingers, making me grimace with pain. I had no idea of where I would go, save that I must find water to cleanse my clothing and mail and see again to my hurts.
Where in this wilderness I could find any spring or stream I did not know, but maybe fortune would not turn her face from me now.
Insects buzzed out of nowhere to plague me, drawn, I supposed, by the odor which clung to my clothing. I staggered from one tree to the next, lingering at each to hold for a moment or two, fighting for strength to carry me on, until, at length, I wavered into the brightness of the full sun at the edge of that copse to stand blinking, gathering more energy to forge ahead. I was somehow sure that the creature I had tried to slay, or its like, was of the night, and that the day would favor me while I could put distance between me and its ledge lair.
There were more heights to the west, but I had headed north to keep under the cover of the trees. Now I hesitated, still steadying myself against the last trees while I sought to map out a new path which would not tax further my remaining dregs of energy. Grass grew here in ragged patches between bones of rocks that pierced the earth. The slope was upward and did not look too hard to climb. Thus I took that way, for I was sure that I could not gather strength enough again to fight a cliff.
I was some distance from the trees before I noticed that I walked on what could only be pavement, smoothed blocks of stone set with such skill that even the earth could not be seen in the cracks between them. This trace was not wide enough to be a road such as would accommodate one of the wains of the clans, but it would have provided easy riding for mounted men. For me now it was another stroke of luck. I still went slowly, having to pause now and again, resting out those dizzy spells which struck without warning, causing stabs of fear.
This paved path—I did not name it “road“—ran north for a space. Then, like the land to my left, the western heights, arose higher and higher, into a gap between two pinnacles which towered, sky touching high, on either hand.
The shade in that cut soothed my aching head, though there seemed no relief for my burning throat. In spite of the heat of the sun I had been shaken all during that journey by waves of chill, sometimes so strong that I had to halt and steady myself against some convenient rock until they passed.
This gap way was wider, though only the centermost portion was paved, a clearing open on either hand so that none of the loose rocks neared any portion of the block strip. Had it been tended as a precaution against ambush by those who might travel here? Thinking that, I became alert to what lay about. There might well be more of the winged things spying on me from some crevice aloft. Thus I pushed my strength to carry me as far as possible for as long as daylight held.
I no longer thought of Gathea or Gruu. Having my own danger to face, I needed to concentrate on the here and now.
Again my lost road sloped upward, but so easy was the incline that I could keep to a hurried pace. Also a clean, cool wind blew here, pulling away the stink of the dried splotches I was forced to carry with me. I came at last into what was undoubtedly a pass, and so could look down at what lay behind the first bastion of the western heights.
The descent looked far more rugged than the ascent had been. But there was one boon: those who had made this way had marked the summit of their road with a basin of stone into which spouted a steady stream of water. I stumbled rather than strode to it, going to my knees and stretching out of my hands to let the sharp, snow-cold liquid wash across my seared skin.
Nor could I withstand further temptation. Though I laid my sword ready to hand I freed myself from my mail shirt and under jerkin, rubbing both down with handfuls of wet sand from the bottom of the basin, dipping up more water to lave my face, to wash away all the signs of battle. The raw places on my face and throat stung and burned. I anointed them again with the salve—trusting that I was doing right. The brownish scab on my hand sloughed away, leaving a red band like a broad scar where the skin still pulled as I flexed my fingers.
Having rid myself of the poison stains I had been forced to carry, I was able at last to stomach some food. Once more I rinsed and refilled my water bottle, sitting cross-legged by the basin and studying, as I drank deeply, the world before me.
Below lay an odd patchwork of land. Parts I believed to be desert for they showed harshly yellow and white under the sun, with no relief of green to rest the eye or promise better traveling. The road marked out as a ribbon of lighter rock turned south, hugging the side of the heights as it descended, following what might have been a ledge hacked back in the cliff side. The sheer labor of such an undertaking impressed me. I knew what difficulty it was even to prepare a packed-earth way for travel from one dale to another—a plan discussed among the lords on our way north but dismissed because it would require more manpower than even the largest of our clans could hope to muster. Yet here the side of a small mountain had been routed out and those blocks laid with a nicety beyond the skill of any but a master builder. How long had it taken, and what lord or ruler had had need of such a thing that he could assemble enough men to carry through the task?
The road ended once more in a patch of trees of which I could only see the tops as a billowing of greenery. Not having a distance glass, I could not tell if the way broke free from those on the other side. I debated as I rested whether I should go on or stay where I was for the night. Was I still so close to that dangerous cavern that I might expect more of the winged people to search me out? Could I even make it all the way down that long road to the trees? And what of trees in this unknown country—could they not also shield new dangers?
At length the thought of a possible attack by the winged ones in greater force spurred me on. My rest by the spring and food and drink had strengthened me. If there was moon tonight, even a waning one such as shone the night before, it would be my aid. I looked to the horizon in all directions to see if there was any hint of clouds and saw none. Surely I ought to be able to camp at the edge of that wood below.
With a much firmer step and a sense that I had made the wisest decision, I set off down that long incline. As I went I thought of the Sword Brothers, wondering if any of them had chanced this way, and what they had made of the creature I had fought, or of the Silver Singers—the hunter in the dark—What wonders had they chanced upon that they had not spoken of, or only learned of after they had led us to the lands along the sea? Once, I had envied their chance to explore, to search out the strange in new lands. Now, alone, I found the exploration far different from my wistful dreams.
The road carried me at a good pace, never dipping too steeply, running as if designed for traffic that needed steadiness of foot. Thus it led for quite a distance south again, taking me well past the cliff I had won my way up earlier. The rock was the same as I had seen elsewhere—gray broken by red and yellow veins. However, the pavement was of different stone altogether and must have been brought from elsewhere, for it was of a gray white and thus stood out sharply against the darker shade of the cliff.
I had descended perhaps a third of the way between the pass and lower country when I noticed that those blocks over which I trod were no longer smooth. Instead, set upon or in each one in such a way that the foot of the traveler must fit square upon it was a symbol. Some of these were black, a thick, inky black which reminded me unpleasantly of the color of the flying creature’s blood in the moonlight; others were a faded red, again not unlike my blood had it been shed and soaked into the stone.
The symbols themselves were very intricate and I found it difficult to view them in detail. Once one’s glance was caught by some portion of the pattern, the eye was held and one’s gaze carried forward, in and out, around about. I jerked my attention swiftly from them, avoiding their complexity. At the same time I had the odd feeling that the reason why they had been so set was to establish the strength of those who used this way, and that they might tread underfoot some signs of power which they found wrong and evil. But that may only have been a fancy and I tried not to allow my imagination to roam too far.
It was enough that the color was distasteful and I did not want to be reminded of what it represented, so I soon kept my eyes resolutely away from those patterned stones. Not all the stones were so marked. Often there were long sections of clear blocks and it was on those that I paused now and then to rest, to look down at the treetops, which appeared to remain obstinately well away from me.
That clean wind which had been refreshing in the pass was lost here. Once or twice a breeze did reach me—blown over, I believed, that section of land which was desert, since it was hot and dry. When I did head west once again, I made up my mind, I would avoid that portion of the country.
Head west? With Gathea gone and no guide, where was I heading? For the first time (I had so concentrated on escaping from the place of the winged things) I realized I had not thought of what would come next. If Gathea had really the secret of the Lady Iynne’s fate, she had given me no clue. To flounder around in this wild country seeking a trail which might not even exist was sheer folly.
Still, what else was left for me? Westward was the only hint I had, and westward I could go. For me, nameless and clanless now, what other fate remained? I chewed on that bitterness as I walked another space of the symbol-set blocks and then—because the twilight was closing in—I broke into a trot which, at last, brought me to the end of the descent where the road spun on into the wood. I hesitated, trying to make up my mind as to whether I should continue on into that shadowed place with night so near.