“Here,” fluted the golden-skinned man, “you may find enemies aplenty.”
“How so?” enquired Spellbinder. “We have seen but one monster before today, a winged creature that came in the night.”
“A tsabeen.” noted na Vohl, “a creature of the moonlight, and more loathsome even than the charga. There are few of either this far to the South, for they gather about Tywah in their multitudes.”
“This Tywah you speak of,” said Spellbinder, “is it your city?”
“Aye,” came the reply, “poor Tywah. Ringed round by predators, her face hung on a gleevah’s hair.”
“This talk of tsabeens and gleevahs and cities begins to fuddle my mind,” said Raven, “and night approaches. If these things of which you speak inhabit the dark hours, had we better find shelter than stand discussing them?”
Garan na Vohl smiled again. “Your mind seems practical as your blade, maid Raven. You are right, and though my gleevah is killed, I think that I can lead you to a safe refuge where we may talk in peace.”
“Peace?” murmured Spellbinder. “From what you say, Garan, there is little peace here.”
“That is true.” Na Vohl rubbed snow upon his armour, cleaning off the blood as he spoke. “But there is sanctuary nearby, even in forsaken Tywah. Come, I will take you there.”
Three
“To pause and survey the road is not to forsake the journey, though surveying may reveal fresh pitfalls; be strong.”
The Books of Kharwhan
Sanctuary was a cunningly-concealed chamber tunneled out deep within the ice. Garan na Vohl rode double with Spellbinder, guiding them through a veritable warren of blinding white ravines until he called them to a stop beside a featureless wall of glass-like appearance. He set both gauntlet-covered hands against the ice and pushed, then he stepped two paces sideway and repeated the strange ritual. There was a hissing sound, and a section of the cliff slid back to reveal a dark tunnel.
Garan touched his wrist-bulb and led the way into the darkness. Raven and Spellbinder following with their nervous horses.
The tunnel was high enough that a man might enter mounted and Garan’s light was reflected off walls of smooth-planed ice that threw back distorted images when they peered into its depths. The secret door swung closed behind them, but ahead there gleamed a pale iridescence, as though some kind of illumination lit the place even when it was unoccupied.
The tunnel emerged into a spacious chamber set round with globes similar to, but larger than, the one on Garan’s wrist. The chamber was circular in design, with smaller chambers cut into the walls, their floors strewn with sweet-smelling grass-like stuff. They left the horses there, cropping contentedly on the vegetation, and followed the knight of Tywah into a second tunnel, too low for a horse, that led to another chamber.
Here the floor was covered with a thick, soft material and gaily-coloured drapery hung about the walls. The ceiling was of a warm, golden colour, and the temperature within the place was comfortably high. They shed their cloaks, accepting Garan’s invitation to seat themselves on one of the low, cushion-covered benches that were set around a wide table. Garan set his helmet on the table and slide back part of the tapestry to reveal a cupboard lined with shelves. He reached inside to fetch a wide-bellied jug and three goblets of some green, bone-like material into the light, then produced a platter of sweetmeats that he set before them.
He poured three goblets of dark red liquid and raised one towards them.
“I drink to friendship, to the companionship of the ice and the sword. May blood be our bond, and blood our due if the bond be broken.”
He sipped the wine. Raven and Spellbinder lifted their goblets.
“Bear with me, friends,” smiled the Quwhonian. “I’ve not removed this armour for six days and my body chafes at the burden.”
He worked at the fastenings of the blue armour, stripping it swiftly from his person to reveal a slender frame, seeming almost too frail to have wielded the great broadsword, clad in a loose robe of silvery cloth. A belt of blue metal circled his waist, tugging in the robe. His legs were clad in the same material, the cloth tucked into short boots of blue that matched the belt.
The two voyagers were beginning to feel the heat of their subterranean refuge, and removed their own armour, though they set their swords close to hand from long habit.
“You are new-come to Quwhon,” said Garan pleasantly, “along a road few dare to travel. Why?”
Succinctly, Raven explained the purpose of their journey, expressing the hope that Garan na Vohl might aid them in their quest.
“What I can do, I shall,” agreed the knight, “but I have heard nothing of this Karl ir Donwayne you seek, nor heard of any mage called Belthis. Perhaps the Koh na Vanna may have word, though for that we must regain the walls of Tywah.”
“Koh na Vanna?” prompted Spellbinder. “Perhaps, friend Garan, you had best tell us of your city and your people before we approach them. You spoke of…predators?…ringing your walls.”
“Aye,” na Vohl whispered, his narrow face becoming sad again. “Tywah stands in mighty peril. The creatures of the snow band together to attack us. The tsabeen—the flying things—and the charga join to ring us round, even the wild gleevah—they are closed to the great bears of your lands, join them. Present, too, are barbarians we have never before encountered. For long now these allies have sought to siege us, to starve us down that they might enter the city.”
“And are there no friends to aid you?” Raven asked. “No other city?”
“There are other cities, yes,” Garan answered. “But Quwhon is a wide and lonely land. We prefer a life of solitude, each city holding to its own. We meet on occasion, to trade or celebrate the festivals of the Snow Queen, but our lives are otherwise kept private.” He refilled their goblets. “The nearest city to Tywah is Lagon, and that rests a thousand selahs to the west.”
Neither Raven, nor Spellbinder knew how far a thousand selahs might be, but from Garan’s tone and facial expression they guessed it was too distance for help to be expected.
“We lead a simple life,” continued the golden man. “Tywah raises her gleevah herds for food and travel, though they grow restless when they hear their wild cousins roaring in the night. We mine the ore within our walls and fashion what clothing and weaponry we need of our own resources. We hunt the charga and the tsabeen, and the Lord Erhkol guides us with the advice of the Koh na Vanna—the Council of the Snow-priests. They have certain powers of sorcery….it is those powers that may aid you. If Tywah stands yet firm.”
“Why are you here?” asked Raven directly. “If your city stands in jeopardy, do you not fight for her?”
Garan smiled: “We all fight, Raven. My own task was to scout the nether snows for sign fo the barbarian stronghold. Never before have the creatures of the ice banded together so determinedly, nor—as I have said—did we encounter these hordes of savage folk. They appeared from nowhere, and the Koh na Vanna urged that riders be sent out to find their camp, for the Snow-priests sense some unknown intelligence that binds together the demons of the ice.
“Seven of us quite fair Tywah by the secret passages running beneath our defences. One I heard dying before I was more than two selahs from the walls. My own gleevah was weakened by a flight of tsabeen, and I used all my arrows to slay them: after that, the carga trailed me until they succeeded in bring down my animal. The gleevah died bravely and gave me time to escape. I was making for this sanctuary when the charga closed in, and would have slain me had you not come to my rescue.”
“And now?” said Raven. “What now? Shall we reach Tywah, or die here?”
“We are but a day’s ride from the city,” answered na Vohl, “perhaps longer on your strange mounts, but I believe we can reach the gates if we can break through the creatures there.”
“Well,” grinned Spellbinder, “two keen swords are at your disposal, and we carry sufficient arrows to sting these invaders somewhat.”
“Truly are you friends to share a battle with,” said Garan, clearly impressed by the suggestion, “though it would be safer for you to turn back and leave Tywah to settle her own destiny.”
“How so?” smiled Raven. “Our horses could last no more than a day or two without food, and our path is blocked by the Storm-runners. Equally, your Koh na Vanna may well be the next guide-post on our trail.”
“Aye,” nodded Spellbinder, “for if they are possessed of sorcerous powers they might well show us Donwayne.”
“Do not seek to dissuade us, Garan,” Raven added, “for we are decided: we go with you into Tywah.”
“Then let us rest,” suggested the knight, “tomorrow will be a hard-fought day.”
“But profitable, I hope,” murmured Spellbinder. “So it goes.”
They drained their goblets and followed Garan’s directions to a room build off from the main chamber, a soft light revealing a large, fur-covered sleeping couch. The warrior from Tywah indicated cloths that were impregnated with some refreshing scent that they might use to cleanse themselves, and left them alone in the chamber.
The rigours of their journeying and the fight with the Storm-runners had tired them both, so that sleep was swift in coming.
“I think,” said Raven drowsily, “that we have found an ally in our questing.”
“Aye,” said Spellbinder. “So it goes.”
The enticing odours of food woke them from a deep and dream-free sleep, and they emerged from the chamber to find Garan setting out platters of meat with cheeses and vegetables that were—to their surprise—as hot as though freshly cooked. Garan explained that the food was stored in larders set around the chamber, cooked in over hidden behind the draperies. Their refuge, he told them, was one of many constructed by his people as shelter for wandering hunters or travelers who found themselves unable to regain the city walls before nightfall. He regarded their curiosity with some amusement, and they wondered at the sophistication of a people who took such marvels with this casual disregard.
When they had finished eating they put on their armor and led the horses back down the entrance tunnel. Garan slid back the door and strode out, broadsword ready in his hands.
Outside, the day was clear, the sky blue and cloudless, the snow sparkling bright beneath a pale sun. Garan climbed up behind Raven and they rode away to the north.
For most of the day their journey was peaceful, though from time to time they encountered backs of the strange mists that hid the charga—the Storm-runners—and were forced to detour. Twice, they saw flights of the bat-winged tsabeen and hurried for the shadows of the overhanging ice cliffs. Garan na Vohl was clearly troubled to see the flying things abroad in daylight and muttered about the circumstances that would persuade the vampiric creatures to venture out before dusk. None spotted them, however, and they succeeded in reaching a second refuge as night fell over the snow.
Now, Garan explained, they were close to Tywah, and there would be no more sanctuary-caves: ahead, a grim ride through the forces laying siege to the city.
Before noon they saw those forces.
Garan called them to a halt in the lee of a massive snow-mountain, unsheathing his great sword as he dismounted. Raven and Spellbinder followed suit, sensing danger all about them. They moved cautiously around the scapr of ice and fell to the ground as Garan waved a hand, indicating the need for concealment.
Raven gasped as she stared at the sight before them.
Stretching out below the mountain was a vast plain on to which a broad trail disgorged, beginning from their position. The plain was dark with men and monsters and gaudy pavilions, from which flew banners and emblems scribed with strange words and stranger designs. Massive siege machines were scattered amongst the tents, catapults and onagers, huge engines designed to cast gigantic arrows, and mechanisms she could not understand. Around these devices moved stocky men, clad all in fur and glittering metal, carrying swords and axes and spears. There were groups of the tsabeen fluttering above the encampment and more on the ground. Behind the tents, as though ghettoed apart from the men, were roiling clouds of mist that Garan said contained the charga. And penned about with wood and metal were herds of the wild gleevah. These latter creatures resembled bears, but were larger than any Raven had seen, their fur a comingling of white and brown and black, their jaws massive, lined with pink lips that sprouted teeth like sabres. Guards were posted around these enclosures, using long pikes to drive back those gleevahs that, grumbling at their confinement, attempted to climb or knock down the fences.
Beyond this great army of strange allies was a lake. The snow ran unbroken to the shore, ending abruptly where the still, green water lapped gently around the edge. A kli or so from the shore there rose a veil of cloud, the water becoming suddenly agitated, as though it boiled, giving off steam.
“Tywah rests beyond the cloud,” whispered Garan, “on a great island at the centre of the lake. The sages say that the same underground furnace that heats the water once threw up the land. Now those furnaces protect us, for the heat is too great to allow a boat to cross.”
“So we are stranded,” said Raven. “If we cannot swim the lake, how can we gain the city?”
“There is an entrance,” smiled Garan, “though reaching it safely may well prove our undoing.”
He pointed away to the west, where a great peak of blue ice jutted up from the plain, ringed round by men and gleevahs.
“There. The peak was built many centuries ago as Tywah Gate. It is hollow, and guards the entrance to a tunnel running beneath the lake. It seemed, then, the surest means of securing our city’s solitude. Now it is the one safe entry to the city.”
“But you spoke of secret passages,” said Spellbinder. “Can we not use one of those? I hold no fear of honest battle, but storming that horde seems a pointless way to die.”
Garan na Vohl shook his scarlet-helmed head. “The passages were sealed off after we scouts quit Tywah. Engineers flooded them with the boiling waters of the lake for fear the barbarians would find them.”
“So,” murmured Raven, “we must enter by Tywah Gate. Or die in the trying.”
“Aye,” replied Garan. “I told you of the dangers.”
“The mettle of a warrior is tested in struggle,” grinned Spellbinder. “Let’s set to unlocking that gate of yours, Garan.”
“So it goes,” laughed Raven, feeling the heady anticipation of battle seep through her mind.
They crept back to the horses and rode along a trail Garan na Vohl showed them. It wound down and through the ice-mountains, emerging at a narrow cleft little more than a kli from the fortress. The besiegers of Tywah could not believe that the city would mount a counter-attack, for the force posted about the gate consisted of only a handful of barbarians and some twenty of the bear-like creatures. Closer now, Raven was able to make out the features of the barbarian warriors. Short they were, and yellow-skinned, not the golden hue of Garan, but a cloudy, leprous-looking yellow, as though melted butter was smeared upon their features. Their hair was lank and greasy-black, braided and set about with features and metal ornaments. Most wore straggling moustaches of the same greasy appearance, hanging down in thin strands to either side of their narrow lips. They appeared sullen and malevolent, their flat faces showing no expression as they waited around Tywah Gate.
Raven shed her cloak, lashing it behind her saddle. She strung the Kragg longbow and nocked a black-fletched arrow as Garan unshipped his broadsword. Spellbinder, too, prepared to use his bow. And then they charged.
At first, their rush went undetected and they were almost on the attackers before a man turned and saw them. His shout died stillborn, choked off by Raven’s shaft. She let fly a second shot, driving the arrow deep into the throat of a gleevah that reared up on its hindlegs in her path. The great beast snapped the arrow with one irritable slap of its massive paw and roared a warning. Spellbinder loosed a shaft into the open mouth and the creature began to chew at the wood, blood trickling over
its lips.
Raven drove a bolt through the chest of a barbarian, and saw two more go down with Spellbinder’s arrows sprouting from chest and face. Then it was sword-work that was needed as they thundered in amongst the milling crowd.
Five of the barbarians were dead, and it seemed that the gleevahs became confused without the supervision of the men. Three fell upon the wounded animal, tearing at its hide and eating it as it howled and tried to fight them off. The remaining barbarians attempted to drive the animals towards the riders, but several of the beasts turned on the drovers and shattered their skulls with swipes of their huge paws.
A pike thrust at Raven’s head, and she swung her sword to deflect the blow, cutting down towards the hands clutching the wooden pole. A second warrior tried to sab her horse, but Garan severed the pike with one swing of his broadsword. Took off the man’s head with another.
Spellbinder slashed and hacked about him, first to right, then left, driving a wedge through the besiegers. He lopped the ear from a gleevah, then split its skull with a great, double-handed stroke, looped the sword in a bloody circle that laid open a man’s face and tore the eyes from another. Then a gleevah charged his horse, running headlong into the animal’s side. The horse went down in a screaming welter of flailing hooves and bloodied belly and Spellbinder crashed to the snow.
He rolled, stabbing upwards at the gleevah, driving blade into exposed stomach, and sprang to his feet. Raven felt her Garan jump to the ground, yelling a battle-cry, and turned her own mount to drive through men and beasts towards her companion.
From the barbarian camp a great cry went up, and a column of men began to run across the snow in the direction of Tywah Gate.
Raven cursed, hacking at a gleevah that sought to disembowel her. She reached Spellbinder with Garan at her side and screamed for the two men to flank her. For a moment there was a lull as the remaining barbarians sought to regain control of the blood-maddened gleevahs, shouting encouragement to one another as they glanced westwards towards their approaching comrades.
The Frozen God Page 4