"Some diversion," Ergo said with a snort. "We lost a good man . . . even if he was a thief and a cutthroat."
"None of us threatens the Beast. It is Colwyn he fears and Colwyn he seeks to slay. The Beast has many weapons at his command. Among them are devices far more insidious than mere Slayers. This was one of them: a changeling."
Titch understandably looked confused. "Then he who attacked Lord Colwyn was not my master?"
Ynyr shook his head. "No, boy. 'Twas a creature sent out in the guise of your master the seer, who was my friend, to dupe us until it could wreak the Beast's will upon young Colwyn. The Beast is a master manipulator of false souls, so to change mere faces and bodies is but child's play to him. From now on we must be on our guard against a repetition of such deceptions, though I think we may be safe from such manifestations for a little while. The Beast does not like to reuse methods recently encountered." He turned his gaze to the cyclops. Rell stood nearby, still fighting to regain his wind after his long, desperate sprint.
"How did you know, one-eye? I but suspected that some thing was amiss, but you divined it."
Rell favored them with a half-smile. "Would that I could claim such a talent. Nay, I was but checking our rear when the swamp disgorged the seer's body alongside Menno's. The quicksand buckles and heaves like a fat man's stomach. It did so barely in time to reveal truth to me.
"I came as fast as I could. If I had been but a little faster we might not have lost the chance to locate the temple."
"And if you had been a step slower or less accurate in your throw, we might not have reason left to regret the loss," Ynyr told him firmly. "We are all in your debt."
"What is this talk of debts?" Colwyn joined the discussion. Behind him, Torquil and Kegan continued to exchange mutual recriminations for not spotting the deceiver, while the rest of the men argued among themselves.
"Specifically of one debt," Ynyr explained, "which all owe to Rell for saving your life."
"Already I owe much to many, and still we have not reached the end of our journey." He extended a hand. "This will have to serve as my thanks for now, since it is all I have to offer."
The cyclops smiled as he took Colwyn's hand in his own. "Gold is common, friendship is not. This is thanks enough."
"May it shine as brightly. What of the real seer?"
"Dead, as I've said. Back in the swamp by the quicksand."
"He gave his life for us," Colwyn murmured, "trying to aid us in our journey."
"He was my only family," said the downcast Titch. "I never knew my father or mother. He was both to me, and teacher as well."
"We're your family now, boy," said Colwyn gently.
Ergo took the lad aside. Titch was struggling not to cry. He did not succeed. Colwyn forced himself to turn from the sound of weeping to confer with Ynyr and Torquil. He had listened too much to weeping lately.
"We have plans to make. We have no way of finding the Black Fortress. With the seer dead and the temple submerged, our window on the Beast has been broken,"
Ynyr nodded thoughtfully. "So it would appear."
"Then what are we to do?"
Ynyr considered. When he spoke again it was with evident reluctance. "There is one other way of locating the Fortress, if the one I have in mind will help us. She sees without the aid of devices, a gift of breeding." He threw Colwyn an odd look as he said this, but Colwyn was not of a mind to question the old man's thoughts.
"You speak of another seer?"
"Not precisely another seer, no. Someone . . . different."
"And who might that be?"
"The widow of the web."
Torquil turned to spit disgustedly. "That creature helps no one, except to help them to a quick and horrible death. None who go there return."
"It is not she who is to blame but the captor who keeps watch over her. The same captor that protects her from the attentions of Slayers as much as men. This creature makes no distinction between Slayers and supplicants, but destroys all who approach the widow with equal dispatch."
"Nor will it make any special distinction for us," Torquil pointed out.
"She has great powers, the widow."
"To kill," Torquil admitted readily.
"She may not kill me, for I know her name."
"That's no secret. Her name is death. A name I would not call out no matter how great my need."
"No. I mean her real name, her true name. An old and powerful name still respected today."
Colwyn looked doubtful. "It sounds too dangerous, Ynyr. I value your council too highly to let you risk your life for a vision that may not be granted."
"I must try. We all risk our lives on this journey. My risk is no greater than yours." He smiled knowingly. "And I have less life to lose. I sometimes think I have lived too long already. As for my counsel that you value so highly, it would be of little use to you if we were to spend years wandering aimlessly about in search of the Fortress. You need to find and penetrate it quickly, before the Beast has time to devise defenses to keep you out. By moving as fast as we have we keep him a little off balance, a touch uncertain. Thus he cannot focus his powers as effectively as he otherwise might."
Torquil looked away. "So we keep him off balance, eh? Tell that to the seer, or to Darro and Menno."
"You have no comprehension of the forces the Beast could bring to bear on us if given time."
"And I'd like to keep it that way, old man!" He turned and stalked away from them.
"He discounts our need," said Ynyr.
"He's frightened, that's all," Colwyn countered. "I'm frightened, too."
"It is no vice to be human. I must try to obtain the widow's help, Colwyn. I can think of no other way to locate the Fortress quickly. We cannot chance stumbling upon it by accident or luck. We do not have that much time. And Lyssa certainly does not.
"You say that you value my counsel. I counsel this approach. You cannot value what I say in one breath and disregard what I recommend in the next."
"I see what Torquil means about your twisting words." Colwyn's expression was grim. "Very well. If you're sure this is the only choice remaining to us . . ."
"It is, my boy, it is. I wish it were otherwise. I wish it more than you can imagine, for reasons that have nothing to do with the real risk to my person. But each must do what each can do. Perhaps it was preordained."
"You told me once you didn't believe in that."
"So I did." Ynyr gave him a pleased smile. "You remember. A good virtue for a king. But it seems too much of a coincidence that I should be compelled to visit the widow."
Colwyn wanted to know what the old man meant, but he held his questions. Some things were meant not to be pried into.
It was hard to imagine a more cheerful morning or a more pleasing sight than the evergreen woods that greeted them upon their emergence from the Wyn-nah-Mabrug. Torquil inhaled deeply of the fresh, pine-scented air and turned to spit back at the swampland they'd just abandoned.
"And may I never set foot in such a country again as long as I live!"
"I'll second that," said Kegan readily. "I dislike traveling where the air itself is an ally of one's enemies. Let it keep its secrets. I've no desire to visit the place again, no matter what treasure sunken temples may hold."
Only Rell did not join in the chorus of relief. Fog and mist had been friend to him all his life. Someday, when this quest was ended, he hoped to rejoin them. He gave little weight to this Colwyn's protestations of friendship. As he'd learned more than once, in clear air and on full bellies, politicians tended to forget awkward promises made during more trying times.
Possibly I misjudge this one, though, he thought. Perhaps he means what he says. Not that it mattered. Better to live as a pessimist. That way one was rarely disappointed.
He looked down at the small boy who clung tightly to his huge hand. The child was handling his fate better than many adults. One could almost imagine him a young of the one-eyes, so stoic was his attitude and
solemn his composure. Rell wished he could do something for Titch but he could not think of anything. Friendship was all he had to offer.
Ergo trailed behind, rummaging through his pockets, glancing intently at one scrap of paper after another before jamming them back into their cloth repositories.
"Blast! One of these days I've got to get organized. Hire a scribe to rewrite everything nice and neat. Ah." He smiled at nothing in particular, dropped slightly to one side of the marchers. No one saw him melt into the bushes.
Oswyn hesitated, hand on sword hilt. Kegan trotted up to stand next to him.
"What is it?"
Oswyn stared into the trees. "I thought I heard something."
His companion joined him in listening hard. "I hear nothing. What did it sound like?"
"I don't know. Strange. A popping sound."
Kegan listened a moment longer, then shrugged. "A branch falling off a tree, a hare breaking twigs. You see Slayers beneath every bush."
"Is that so surprising?"
"I suppose not. Not when I've started to see them rising from every creek and pond we pass."
"Aye." Oswyn let his hand slip from his sword. "It must have been a branch."
A small brown shape had been watching the two men closely. Now it padded on ahead, then cut back toward the troupe. It halted before the startled Titch, who picked it up instinctively.
Rell eyed the puppy uncertainly. "Now where did that little dust mote come from?" He turned and scanned the forest. There was no sign of passing travelers or nearby habitation.
"I don't care," said Titch delightedly. "Hey, stop that!" The puppy yapped softly and continued to lick the boy's face.
Colwyn heard the excitement and slowed to join them. "Now that's a cute little mouse." He frowned, looked over their heads. "Where's Ergo?"
"He's—" Titch started to say, but a growl from the puppy made him hesitate. Or perhaps it was something he saw in the dog's eyes.
"He'll be back real soon," Titch finished. The puppy resumed licking his nose. "Can I keep him?"
"Hmmm?" Colwyn murmured absently, still searching the forest. His attention came back to the ball of brown fluff in the boy's arms. "Of course. Just keep him quiet."
"I will," Titch promised. The puppy promptly curled up and went to sleep in his arms.
Oswyn found himself leaning back, craning his neck to locate the sky. "Never have I seen woods like these! Heard of 'em, but never thought to see them. These trees are like castles."
"Which they are, to the many creatures who inhabit their upper reaches," Ynyr explained as they passed around one particularly enormous bole. Overhead it was a long way to the vault of heaven, but there was none of the claustrophobic feeling that had enveloped them all during their trek through the swamps.
"Peaceful place," Oswyn added.
"Not up that way." Ynyr brought them to a halt and pointed.
Through a break in the towering woods they could see a sloping cliff of dark basalt. It was a difficult climb, but not an impossible one. The widow's mountain.
Ynyr turned to face Colwyn. "Here we must part company, my friend."
Colwyn shook his head. "Not yet. I'm going with you. I can help." He touched the strap holding the glaive.
Ynyr only smiled. "No. The glaive's power is great, but it is not limitless. You must retain it for when it will truly be needed." He indicated the slope ahead. "Besides, if two approach, it is likely that both will die. There will be very little time in which to make contact and when I present myself to the widow there must be no chance of a misunderstanding. Your presence and the need to explain it would only hamper my efforts, Colwyn. Alone, I may have a chance."
Torquil had listened quietly. Now he offered his own advice to Colwyn. "Each to his chosen fate. Listen to the wise man."
"Yes, listen. As I've tried to teach you to do. Each to his fate. If I have not returned by tomorrow morning, you will know mine."
"And if that should happen, what then? How am I to proceed without your good advice?"
"You must go on as best you are able, my boy. That is your fate." He conjured up a smile. "It is too early for despair. Everything may go as hoped. Meanwhile get some rest and try to ease your mind as well as your body." He turned away and set off toward the dark cliff.
"Now that's the advice of a wise man," commented Kegan. He proceeded to find himself a soft spot near a great twisted root and sit down. Torquil chose a resting place opposite.
"Wait, boy," Titch was yelling, "wait for me!" The puppy had jumped from his arms and was scampering into the bushes.
Ergo reappeared a moment later. He paused a moment to scratch behind one ear, frowned, then joined the boy. Rell looked on amusedly, understanding now what he'd only been able to suppose earlier. Titch looked disappointed, but not gravely so.
"I still say it's a foolish wish," Ergo said to the lad. "I thought to show you that. Well, don't you agree with me now?"
Titch shuffled his feet, staring at the ground. "You're a nice friend, Ergo, but if you want the truth . . ."
"Careful, boy," Rell warned him. "The truth can be dangerous."
Titch didn't care. "I liked you better as a puppy."
"Fagh! Children!" Ergo walked away, shaking his head bemusedly and hunting for a place to relax. He was exhausted, and not just from the strain of transformation.
Colwyn took note of his condition as well as that of the others and beckoned Torquil over.
"We have no food save what little remains in our packs and the men are too tired to hunt. I can't blame them. These past days would have tried the endurance of a hundred men. Right now I confess to little enthusiasm for killing anything, even a deer."
"What do you want from me, Colwyn?"
"Suggestions. You've roamed this country while I've been stuck in a castle learning history and administration. Those are of little use on an empty belly. If you've a talent for scavenging, man, use it now."
Torquil rubbed the stubble of beard that decorated his chin. "Well now, sir, that presents something of a problem. What we call scavenging you might call by another name."
"Promise payment in the name of Turold and Eirig," Colwyn told him.
"No disrespect intended, sir, but common folk are disinclined to trust the promises of princes, having been lied to by them so often in the past."
"Don't deal me homilies, Torquil. I'm too tired and too hungry. The fate of Krull itself hangs in the balance." He turned to gaze at the distant mountain, which had swallowed up his most trusted adviser.
"Your pardon, Colwyn, but I did not mean to tease you, though I'd appreciate it if you didn't play so loose with the word hang in my presence. It makes my men and me nervous. Are you saying that we should obtain what victuals we can by any means necessary?"
"I would prefer that you not break the law while doing so, if that's what you mean."
"Now that will be difficult, not to mention different. But there may be a way. Hunger has a way of stimulating a man's mind as well as his inventiveness." He turned and shouted. "Kegan!"
The thief pushed back his hair. "Now what? Another crisis?"
"None greater than a score of empty bellies. Get your lazy tail over here."
Grumbling to himself, Kegan climbed to his feet and ambled over. Colwyn explained the predicament.
"I thought as much. At least, my guts did. So it's up to poor old Kegan to feed this lot, is it?"
"You're as supple with words as most thieves are with their fingers, Kegan," said Torquil. "We're in no shape to outrun the local law even if we had the time to lead them a merry chase. I blush to confess it but we must resort to legal means of feeding ourselves."
"How do you expect me to manage this miracle?" Kegan asked curiously. "I'm no wise man. That one's gone up the mountain to seek his death. Better you'd thought to have him feed us first. Starving men make poor mourners."
"You're not using your head, man. A common enough occurrence when tired and hungry. Think! Doesn't one
of your wives live in a village near here? You and I have traveled close by this giant wood before."
Kegan became a study in concentration. "Let me see. Lona. No, she moved with her family down to the Hyrwyn River country. Pity. Such a gentle, sweet girl, gifted with such superb—"
"Don't drift, man. You're not that hungry, but we all will be soon if you don't use your head."
"Sorry." Kegan gave them an apologetic smile and concentrated again. "There's Imrone, but she's in Uvghern, and that's leagues from here."
Colwyn leaned close to Torquil, whispering. "How many wives does he have? Or is he boasting for my benefit?"
Torquil pursed his lips. "Kegan is not one of those men who need to boast. He is quiet and most reluctant to discuss the subject. I think it embarrasses him. As to your question of wives, I believe the total stands at seven or eight at last count. They come and go and sometimes 'tis difficult for the poor fellow to remember which ones he's married to and which he's only courting.
"I recall one time in Mulleen Towne when he spent an entire evening charming this beautiful if drunken lass, only to discover the next morning that he'd married her the previous year."
"She must have been furious."
"Not really. She'd forgotten that she'd married him, so ignorance in this instance became the mother of romance and they enjoyed a fine reunion. Kegan's a traveling man, you see."
Colwyn nodded, forcing himself to repress a smile. "He covers a lot of ground."
"Aye," agreed Torquil, with a touch of envy in his tone, "and that's not all."
"Merith!" Kegan said suddenly. "She lives in Torunj, a village crowding the northern flank of this forest."
Torquil looked satisfied, glanced briefly at Colwyn as if to say "I told you so," and spoke to Kegan: "I'm sure she's beautiful and charming, but can she cook?"
Kegan struggled to remember. "As I recall it's not her strongest point."
"Well, just have her bring provisions." He looked past his companion. "His Magnificence has told me he can cook. We'll soon see."
"When did he lay claim to that particular talent?" Colwyn wondered. "I never heard him say anything about it."
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