Beside her in the wide bed, Spellbinder pushed back the crumbled covers and sat up.
“What ails you?” His voice was worried.
“Belthis,” gasped Raven. “I dreamed of Belthis!”
“By all the gods!” A glimmer of enlightenment shone in Spellbinder’s eyes. “I should have guessed it. Shroud of the Stone! That’s the know securing this mystery.”
He sprang from the bed, pouring water that he brought to the woman. Raven watched him, tossing back her mane of golden hair. Doubt, mingled with anticipation, clouded her blue eyes and her full lips formed a question. Before she could voice it, Spellbinder began to speak, low and urgent.
“Belthis! Aye, the warlock must be this Jebulus the barbarian. We felt his presence when first the crystal reached into our minds. Do you not see? The Snow Queen told you to determine whether or not he lived, and when I sought to reach closer to the mystery, something blocked me, dimmed my vision. If Belthis is Jebulus, then his magic would hold greater sway, our minds having once linked in wizardly fight.” He paused: worried. “And if I am right, then Belthis’ power has grown. Perhaps this book Grannach mentioned has taught him new skills, enabled him to bend the evil strength of Tanash to his own black ends.”
Raven’s eyes flashed fired and her breasts heaved.
“And where Belthis is, there too will be Donwayne. But how to reach them?”
“I know not, as yet,” murmured her companion. “But there must be a way. Our path grows clearer, Raven. Mayhap the Snow Queen told more than we had thought.”
“She urged me to seek the Frozen God,” said Raven quietly, “where the sky falls down upon the ice.”
“So, let us seek him,” said Spellbinder. “And if we are right, then we shall unravel this mystery, for I suspect that this siegement of Tywah is Belthis’ doing. If we can quell his ambitions, then we shall lift the siege, slaying two birds with the single stone.”
As though applauding his words, there came a loud cawing sound from outside the window. Turning, Raven caught sight of black pinions flashing in the sunlight, a black shape that hovered for a moment before swooping away across the roof-tops. She smiled, leaping from the bed like some great, lithe cat eager to be off on the hunt.
Now that they held within their grasp one thread that might, followed to its source, provide answers to those question that had troubled them, she was anxious to be on her way. To wait, quiescent, behind the walls of Tywah when battle-trumpets sounded beyond was not in Raven’s nature. To know the while that evil roamed the city disturbed her still further. To lay, patiently in ambush, awaiting the arrival of an enemy, that was one thing, an irksome means to the ending in honest sword-work. To wait unknowing, dependent upon the enemy to bring battle, that sat heavy on her warrior’s mind.
But even the most eager of warriors must prepare for fight: to rush blind and headstrong into danger was, she knew, to risk defeat before battle might be joined. Forcing herself to remain calm, she sat with Spellbinder to discuss a plan.
Belthis—if Belthis it was—would, most like, reside with the Camargian legions. There he would be safe, for they could entertain no hope of penetrating that encampment alive. Consequently, their most logical path must take them to the lair of the Frozen God, there to destroy the warlock’s power at its source. Should so desperate a venture be possible. Finding that lair, however, was a problem of greater magnitude, for none within Tywah’s walls knew the location of Tanash’s resting place.
He waits where the sky falls down upon the ice…
The words whispered through her mind.
And the demons of the ice frolic amongst the bones of men…
Had the Snow Queen told her the way? Were the voiceless words of the crystal some riddle?
The demons of the ice…Garan na Vohl had called the tsabeen, the charga by that odious title…and those creatures dwelt within the confines of darkness, of night. Yes! The pattern grew clearer.
Where the sky falls down upon the ice…A dark place, a night place. A place where the sun set? To the west, then? To where the sun went as the day ends, giving way to night?
She reached out, grasping Spellbinder’s naked thigh, her gaze urgent as she explained. The dark warrior thought for a moment, then smiled, touching her cheek.
“Sharp as that sword you wield so well, your mind.” He nodded. “Aye, that must be it. Westwards, then, and may the Snow Queen guard our road.”
They set to further discussion, for their departure would be no easy affair. To announce their going would be to forewarn their enemies, to lay up in store rigours greater than those already awaiting them. A secret departure, then, out on to the ice and away before any could miss them, attempt to halt them.
Garan must be warned of their plan, for they would need supplied, assistance in avoiding the barbarians. They dressed, joining their host for the noonday meal. When it was finished, Raven engaged Lys in casual conversation while Spellbinder took the Knight of Tywah aside, explaining their design. Na Vohl acceded reluctantly when Spellbinder insisted that he must remain behind to obliterate their trail with words, putting up only one major objection: the exact manner of their departure. To leave through Tywah Gate must, of necessity, leave behind soldiers who could speak of their going. Yet no other egress was available, apart from the lake itself.
Spellbinder questioned Garan at length upon this point, learning that boats existed—fishing craft and small pleasure yachts—for use in more peaceful times. The revelation settled the problem of departure, though Garan was at a loss to know how his friends could hope to cross the barrier of steam. He agreed, however, to arrange a hunting trip, using that subterfuge to deliver Raven and Spellbinder to the forested end of the island.
The preparations were set in motion and that evening they broached the matter with Erhkol.
Nothing was said of the real purpose, and the Lord of Tywah expressed his regret that affairs of war prevented him from accompanying their party. They quite the palace early that night, pleading a need for sleep in readiness for an early start come morning.
The forests they had seen earlier, from the roof of Garan’s hall, were situated to the east of the city, where the island extended a neck of rock out into the lake. The direction suited their aims, for when Garan returned without them it would—they hoped—be assumed that they were headed in an easterly direction. And if their surmise was correct, such a road would take them away from Tanash’s lair. They decided that Garan should explain their departure as though confused—whilst tracking a gleevah they became separated; although he had searched for them there was no sign; losing hope, Garan had returned to bring the news. Thus it might easily be thought that they had fallen prey to gleevahs, unaccustomed as they were to the ways of the wild bear-beasts. Should a boat be found missing—as, in time, it must—why then, the outworlders had grown fretful at their confinement, had sought to escape the island and perished on the lake. Or fallen to the barbarians. It was a plausible enough story, and one that should confuse their unknown enemies for long enough to afford them a start, if not the whole game.
They departed Hala na Vohl soon after dawn on the next day.
Lys remained behind and Garan took with him only a scant handful of retainers, leading the small party out through the eastern gate with the rising sun warm on their faces.
Garan had provided riding gleevahs for the two outworlders, and though the massive beasts were considerably broader than horses, Raven and Spellbinder found them surprisingly easy to handle. Saddles of some leather-like material were bound to the gleevahs’ backs with wide cinches, seating the rider close behind the great shoulders. Stirrups were fastened to the straps, not loose as those of a horse, but set tight against the creatures’ flanks, hinged to swing forwards and down, should the gleevah rear. A simple loop encircled the muzzle of each animal, long reins passing back to the rider; this was all that was needed to steer the beasts, for they were well-trained and docile for their strength.
The
road led out through farmland and pastures where the creatures resembling large deer with short, single-pronged antlers grazed in bovine indifference to their passage. The fields were thick with crops, promising a rich harvest, and they began to understand how the Koh na Vanna might feel confident of outlasting the siege. Streams ran blue and clear across the grasslands, and in the distance there was the lush green of orchards, the trees heavy with fruit.
Around the noon hour they entered the forest, following a wide, much-used trail. They halted to eat, continuing afterwards along a path that became, in time, more akin to a tunnel than a trail. Above them rose gigantic trees that spread thick, gnarled branches to form a ceiling of luxuriant greenery, through which there filtered rays of the invisible sun. The air was heavy with pollen, the undergrowth clamorous with the trilling of birds, the rustle of small animals and the gentle susurration of insects. They rode on through this peaceful scene, moving ever deeper into the woods, which grew steadily darker as the trees sprouted thicker and taller until their gleevahs padded through a kind of twilight that was pleasantly mysterious. When natural dusk fell upon the forest, Garan called a stop in a clearing roofed-over with branches.
That night they slept in tents, enjoying the peace of the woodlands, the comforting glow of the fires and the good food.
In the morning Garan led them on to the coast. They paused there, looking out across the lake to where the mist rose and the surface boiled. To Raven, it appeared impossible that they could pass through that barrier, but when she questioned Spellbinder—discreetly, for fear the servants might overhear—he only smiled and told her to wait.
They made camp in a glade several klis from the shoreline, and, with Garan, acted out their role of hunters. The Quwhonian took them inland, point out the gleevah trails criss-crossing the forest, turning their path so that they emerged on the coast, some distance from the camp. Here they found a cluster of huts, deserted now, but in good repair. Inside one of the buildings was a fishing boat, its triangular sail furled against the single mast, its size sufficient that it might hold gleevahs as well as sailors. Rollers were stacked against the wall of the hut, and they set out the timbers in readiness. The hut was close to the shore, built atop a gentle slope that would, with luck and hard pushing, permit the boat to slide down into the water. Now they had only to stow their supplies and set sail.
Returning to the glade, they set in action the next part of their plan. Spellbinder emptied a sleeping draught into a flagon of wine which Garan passed amongst the servants. Then, when all had succumbed to slumber, they loaded food and armour on their gleevahs and rode swiftly for the fisherman’s hut. Transferring the stuff to the boat by the light of a pale moon, they returned to the sleeping camp. Spellbinder went amongst the few servants, kneeling beside each oblivious man to whisper softly as his hands traced patterns in the night air.
Standing, he smiled. “A simple spell, but enough for our purpose. They will notice nothing in the morning, forgetting that we brought more provisions than remain. Now let us sleep: tomorrow will be harder.”
Though Raven sought to discover what he had in mind, he refused to explain, deviating her enquiries with soft words and softer caresses. In time his kisses grew fiercer, and they loved as though for the first time. It was, thought Raven as sleep washed over her, as if he sought a measure of peace that only love might bring.
Next day they set out early, accompanied by three men. Raven curbed her impatience, feigning interest in the hunt, and, indeed, the swift riding through the forest trails was valuable training in the handling of the tamed gleevah. They startled one of the wild creatures from a feast of berries and Garan steered it with considerable skill away from the camp. He seemed to pursue the creature with all the eagerness of a keen huntsman, but his lance, instead of wounding the great beast, served to goat it on, pricking it up into a lumbering run to the north. The narrow trails forced them to ride in single file and when they had come parallel to the hut Garan faked a tumble, claiming that a low branch had spilled him from the saddle. The gleevah was long gone into the woodlands, so the golden-skinned warrior sent his men off in search of a fresh quarry, explaining that he would quarter the woods with his guests.
Instead, they rode directly for the shore.
Reaching the hut, they brought out the boat and urged the gleevahs on board. The animals were restive and Spellbinder was required to calm them with his wizardry. Garan embraced them both, wishing them all speed and safe journey, his gentle, handsome face troubled. They let down the sail and Raven climbed into the gunwales, manning the steering oar, as the two men set their shoulders to the craft.
Slowly at first, then faster, it slid down the ramp. Spellbinder began to run, one hand grasping the stern. He gave one last heave and swung up, hauling himself into the vessel alongside Raven. Garan halted, jumping to an outcrop of rock, from which he watched them speed towards the water.
Faster and faster sped the little boat until, with a great splash, it hit the lake, cleaving through the calm, in-shore currents in a wash of foam. Raven turned to the shore, raising a hand in farewell. Garan waved a salute and over the slapping of the waves she heard his cry.
“Fortune ride with you, may the Snow Queen bless your path.”
She wondered if they would ever again see Garan na Vohl or the fair city of Tywah.
Beside her, Spellbinder called out in a loud voice, and wind billowed the sail. The fishing boat danced over the lake, speeding towards the roiling clouds of steam that circled the receding bulk of the island. The warrior-wizard moved to the prow and spread his arms wide. He shouted something she could not understand, moving his hands in curious patterns that seemed to leave faint traceries of light upon the empty air.
The water of the lake changed from iridescent blue to cloudy green, and the temperature rose, growing steadily warmer as they approached the protective mist.
Raven could feel the heat upon her face, and the gleevahs stirred restlessly in their magic-induced slumber. Green gave way to slate grey, and the surface of the lake began to bubble, great globes of shimmering colour boiling from the water to burst loudly in clouds of steam. And still Spellbinder called out, still wove those strange patterns in the air.
The paint decorating the craft began to blister, giving off a sour odour. Sweat beaded Raven’s brow and she felt her armour grow warm upon her body, her linen undergarments becoming sticky with perspiration. The air seemed thicker, cloying hot in her throat and lungs, and even the wind that blew them towards the mist became as the blast from the mouth of some great furnace.
Only her faith in Spellbinder kept her hands firm upon the tiller, steering the boat directly at the wall of vapour rising up to block out the sky.
The seething of the lake was loud in her ears, drowning out Spellbinder’s voice, a whistling, bubbling concatenation of sound almost as painful as the heat. Her hair grew wet, plastering against her face and neck, and her skin crawled and burned. Surely, she thought, they could not go on: surely they must turn back before they were scalded, boiled like shellfish in the pot.
Then the wind got up even stronger and the boat rushed headlong at the wall of steam. The vapour roiled, a hell-blast that sucked the air from her mouth before she could breathe it in. Suddenly a funnel opened in the mist, a grey, shifting hole at the end of which shone a faint light. The air grew cold. The boat hurled into the bank of twisting, seething steam. At the bows, Spellbinder continued to trace his mystic patterns, continued to call out the strange, almost-inarticulate words.
And the little fishing craft passed through the barrier.
Spellbinder slumped to the deck, drawing in great gasping breaths as the sun came out and shone upon them. Raven longed to go to him, but the wind still blew and she had to hold the tiller, steering their course towards the eastern shore.
As Garan had promised, there were no barbarian pavilions here, the Camargian forces being concentrated about that part of the lake facing Tywah. She twisted round, starin
g back at the barrier of boiling mist. The tunnel was gone now, the vapour again a solid wall of unbroken grey steam, the water calming, becoming again green, then aquamarine, then blue. Ahead, the shoreline stretched in featureless whiteness, snowfall drifting soft to the waters’ edge. The wind dropped, lowering to a gentle breeze so that the boat grounded with scarce a shudder and she was able to go forwards to where Spellbinder lay, barely conscious, sprawled over the bow.
She shivered in the cold, drawing a cloak of the thin, snow-white material about his shoulders before draping a matching garment about her own. He stirred as she made fast a line to the shore, and clambered, with Raven’s assistance, on to the snow. Reaching down, he scooped a handful of the stuff into his palm, rubbing it over his pale features as might a man recently woken from a deep slumber.
“We must make haste,” he said thickly, his voice slurred, “lest that spell-casting went detected and barbarian patrols are sent out to locate the source.”
He helped Raven unload their supplies, then woke the gleevahs, which sprang nervously to the ground, snuffling over the snow as if unsure of their footing.
When all was ready they used their blades to hole the boat and pushed it out from the shore. Spellbinder murmured a brief incantation, summoning up a wind that blew the vessel back towards the mist as water gushed in through the splintery holes. Gradually it settled lower, its silent progress slowing until, with a final sigh, it slid down beneath the surface, hidden from prying eyes.
They climbed astride the gleevahs, turning the great animals northwards along the shore.
“Now,” said Raven softly, “begins the greater journey. To where they sky falls down upon the land.”
“Aye,” replied Spellbinder, his tone sombre, “to where the demons of the ice frolic. Let us hope they will not add our bones to their playground.”
Ten
“The perilous road may oftimes prove more satisfying than the gentler path, for the reward of arrival may be savoured the more.”
The Frozen God Page 10
