by Brian Lumley
`Hank,' de Marigny answered, 'I accept all you say, though I don't understand half of it as yet, but . . he paused. 'Look, I've no time to explain, so I'll simply show you. You see, Titus Crow used the time-clock to journey to Elysia, and when he returned, he brought back something with him. He brought this.' He opened his cloak wide.
'Your cloak? I don't see what — '
'Do you see now?' De Marigny touched the large studs that looked merely decorative where they were set in the leather of the cloak's harness. He rose slowly at first, then shot skyward through the branches of the surrounding trees.
Now it was Hank Silberhutte's turn to stare in amazement. He knew only too well that Ithaqua could walk on the wind, as could his daughter Armandra. But this was Henri-Laurent de Marigny, a common man of Mother Earth. And yet here he soared aloft on the wind as surely as any hawk!
'All right, Henri,' he called out to the man who glided now above the treetops, performing intricate aerial manoeuvres. 'You've convinced me. Come on down.'
De Marigny alighted a moment later to find Silberhutte standing on his own. His three companions kept well back, coming forward only when they were sure that the man in the cloak intended no more immediately foreseeable flights, and they now regarded him with something akin to awe. Morda stood behind them, padding from one gigantic hind foot to the other in seeming agitation. The bear, too, had witnessed de Marigny's flight.
'I'm convinced,' Silberhutte repeated. 'Convinced that you stand a slight chance . . He reached out to touch the deceptively strong fabric of the cloak. 'What kind of weight can this thing carry?'
`The weight of two men,' de Marigny answered at once. `It's speed is reduced by extra weight, of course, but even so — ' He paused, stared hard at Silberhutte, then said, `Whatever it is you're thinking, forget it, Hank. You've done enough already.'
`I've done nothing, old friend. And listen: I've as much interest in the time-clock as you yourself. What's more, I know something of Borea, and a whole lot more about the Children of the Winds. You'll stand a far better chance of getting the clock back with me along. Yes, and while we're on the trail of the clock, I guess we've a lot to talk about. We both have tales to tell.'
For a moment, considering Silberhutte's suggestion, de Marigny made no answer. He looked into the eager, honest eyes of this white giant, a man tall as Titus Crow himself but broader yet. Without question Silberhutte must be formidably strong. And did not his companions treat him with the utmost respect, and they themselves men obviously well versed in the arts of combat?
Finally he said, 'All right, Hank, and glad to have you along. But first we'll have to make you a seat or sling of some sort that we can suspend from the cloak's harness. There's just a bit too much of you for me to carry like a babe in arms for any great length of time.'
An hour later, after a meal of smoked meat, bread, and wild honey washed down with richly spiced tea, the two were ready to take their departure. While they, had eaten, Umchak the Eskimo had worked with leather barely mature, fashioning a seat which, attached to the cloak's harness, would hang immediately beneath de Marigny where he himself floated in the spread of the cloak's canopy.
First they tested the cloak's strength. In ascending, it was very slow, and descent was deceptive in that the 'brakes' had to be applied that much sooner, but in level flight the loss of speed was not so great as de Marigny had feared. Manoeuvrability, however, was an almost total loss. Carrying two men, the contraption was simply too cumbersome to perform any but the most rudimentary routines of flight.
Eventually de Marigny was satisfied that he could handle the cloak adequately under the circumstances, and then they descended to say their farewells to the three who breathlessly waited below. De Marigny wrapped himself in a warm fur from Kota'na's pack while Silberhutte delivered his final instructions to his retainers. Moments later, as de Marigny hovered only a few feet above the forest's floor, Silberhutte again climbed into his own makeshift harness and they were off.
As they rose up through the forest, Kota'na called: 'And if we get back to the plateau before you, Lord, how shall I tell the Woman of the Winds what you are about?'
`Tell your mistress what you know,' Silberhutte shouted down.
'She may well be displeased, Lord, that I return without you.'
'Then tell her that you keep only the bears, Kota'na – that the Lord Silberhutte is his own man. Now begone - and all speed to you, bear-brother . .
And with that they were away, climbing above the treetops to circle once, twice, before setting a course that followed the way the wolf-warriors had taken.
At first they flew close to the treetops, descending occasionally to ensure that they still followed the course of the twin ruts in the forest floor that told of the clock's passing. But soon they were able to climb a little higher as the trees below thinned out and the trail became that much easier to follow. By then it was apparent that they followed a course which circled to the east, back toward the territories of Ithaqua's tribes, those lands bordering on the great white plain which lay south of the impregnable plateau.
The miles were quickly eaten up beneath them, and as they went, their elevation offered a view of great beauty and mystery. To the north the peaks of a low range showed white heads above belts of grey cloud, behind which` the moons of Borea were hidden except for their uppermost rims. To the south the green forest extended until hidden by distance and a wall of mist that rose until it merged with the far grey sky. Flying over rivers and lakes, they told of the adventures each had known since last he saw the other.
De Marigny related the fantastic story of how he had gone to the assistance of Titus Crow and Tiania the girl-goddess in Earth's dreamworld; Silberhutte in turn told of all that had transpired since Ithaqua bore him away from Earth's icy northern mountains to Borea; and so they grew to know one another. They had been merely distant colleagues in the old days, meeting on no more than two or three occasions. That had been at a time when the ancient but increasingly imminent threat of the CCD had drawn so many fine men together, though there had been little enough time to spare for the founding of firm friendships.
And as time passed and they talked - or rather, as they half-shouted at each other, for they had to make themselves understood above the hum of the wind in their ears - so the terrain below changed. The trees thinned out until only the occasional pine stood up from banks of coarse grass and weeds, and finally even the last of these lone trees faded away into the distance behind them.
By then they were heading in a mainly northerly direction, still following the twin ruts where they left their mark in grasses and soil below them, and de Marigny had noticed a degree of tension creeping into Silberhutte's voice, a tautness about him where he hung in his harness directly below the cloak and its flier.
When the big Texan stopped talking altogether and began to pay even more attention to the ground only ten to twelve feet beneath him, de Marigny was prompted to ask: 'Is something wrong, Hank?'
`Yes,' the Texan answered. 'They must have joined forces with a second party along the way. There are more wolves now and about nine men. That will make things more difficult for us. Also we've been flying for at least two hours. Given that we're travelling at four or five times their speed, or very nearly so, and taking into account that the woods back there must have slowed the wolf-warriors down considerably, they can't be all that far ahead. See up front there, that narrow belt of shrubs at the foot of the hills? It's my bet that — '
He paused for a split second and froze in his harness, then cried: 'Henri, get us up — get us out of here'
4 Ambush!
Too late de Marigny saw what Silberhutte had seen: a pair of wolf-warriors rising from behind covering clumps of grass. Between them, shaking off loose grasses and twigs which had been strewn over it to give it camouflage, a great wolf suddenly sprang erect. Not even in his wildest dreams had de Marigny ever imagined the existence of such a beast!
With the eyes of a
wolf, yellow and gleaming, and the same lolling tongue, the thing stood as tall as a pony but yet had the low-slung frame of a wolf. Indeed it was a wolf — but its head was the size of a horse's head!
The cloak was on a course which would take the fliers immediately over the heads of the ambushers. Seeing this, de Marigny began slowly to climb, banking to one side as the cloak strained to gain height. He heard Silberhutte yell some incoherent instruction or warning, and at the same time saw the stroboscopic flash and glitter of tomahawks already twirling through the air. He saw, too, the tensing of shaggy-furred muscles as the great lean monster on the ground prepared itself to spring.
One of the razor-honed tomahawks barely grazed de Marigny's ankle as it whistled harmlessly by. The other was inches lower, slicing something that twanged, sagged momentarily, and then snapped. De Marigny had only sufficient time to realize that both weapons had been aimed at him, not Silberhutte, before all balance was gone and the cloak began to yaw wildly. At the same time a massive snarling fury launched itself with all the force of steelspring legs, clawing at Hank Silberhutte where he swung now in only half a harness, and in another moment the cloak and its passengers were dragged swiftly down out of the air.
Then — a kaleidoscope of action. De Marigny was privileged to witness Silberhutte's awesome speed and ferocity. He had been right about the Texan's great strength, but he would never have guessed that so large a man might be endowed with such lightning reflexes.
For even as he struck the ground with the wolf's great paws about his shoulders, Silberhutte had sunk his wicked picklike axe into the beast's shoulder, causing it to leap back away from him with a howl of pain. One of the two Indians, rushing upon them with a spear aimed at de Marigny's middle, found the shaft of. his weapon trapped in a giant's fist, wrenched from his hands, driven hiltfirst into his naked belly so that he doubled over in agony. That blow itself, crushing the bronze heathen's organs, must certainly have crippled or even killed him. But to be doubly sure, as he bent forward and his screaming face came down, Silberhutte's leather-clad knee smashed upward to cut the scream short. Face bones, neck, and spine all broke in unison and the rag-thing that had been a man flopped awkwardly over onto its back.
Desperate as he was to get into the fight and go to the Texan's assistance, de Marigny was already fighting his own battle. In fact as he struggled to make the cloak manageable, he was actually obstructing his companion's action, for one leather strap still fastened Silberhutte to the cloak's harness. At last de Marigny regained control of the cloak and commenced a laborious ascent — only to be knocked sideways by a badly aimed swipe from the partly crippled leg of the now limping wolf. Then the thing was astride him, jaws slavering, terrible fangs bared as the fetid muzzle lowered toward his face.
Silberhutte's weapon was a steely blur as he cut himself free of the restraining harness. He bounded onto the wolf's back, hooked the fingers of his free hand into its nostrils, smashed down once with the spine of his terrible weapon. The needlepoint of that picklike tool drove through skull and into brain and the wolf collapsed atop de Marigny with a final, hideous death spasm.
`Get up into the air, Henri!' Silberhutte roared, leaping from the motionless carcass. 'It's our one chance. You can try to help me later but not if it means risking your own life. And don't worry, they won't kill me. They'll be wanting to keep me for Ithaqua. He has one hell of a score to settle with me! Now go on, man — fly!'
Fighting free of the dead wolf, de Marigny saw the Texan brandishing his bloody weapon — from which the second of the two redskins shrank back saw him turn until he faced squarely in the direction of the scrubby bushes at the foot of the hills. Racing from that quarter and no more than two dozen or so flying paces away came a pair of wolves with riders on their backs and a third man clinging between them.
And de Marigny knew that Silberhutte was right. So far the wolf-warriors had not attempted to kill the plateau's Warlord out of hand; he would provide the Wind-Walker with a great deal of pleasure. Any ordinary death he might suffer at the hands of the Children of the Wind would only anger Ithaqua — but certainly they had tried to kill de Marigny! Well, he had no intention of dying just yet.
Now, with mere moments to spare, his fingers touched the control studs and the man in the cloak sprang aloft. Looking down, he was in time to see Silberhutte bowled over by the wolves, spread-eagled by the riders of those beasts as they fell on him in a concerted tangle of thrashing bodies and bore him to the ground .. .
For what must have been all of eighteen hours (he could only guess at the passage of time in this strange world where night appeared never to fall and the light was little better than that of an early, misty dawn), de Marigny followed the wolf-warrior party, flying above them and to their rear, well out of range of their spears and tomahawks. Unlike the Indians of the Motherworld they did not carry bows; Silberhutte had explained that slender bows broke too easily when Ithaqua was close by, that the drastic fall in temperature his presence invariably occasioned made wood brittle as chalk. Also, in a world where both Armandra and her dread sire — aye, and certain of his ice-priests, too — controlled the winds so marvellously, light and slender missiles such as arrows could all too easily be turned back upon those who dispatched them!
In its entirety the party consisted of four wolves and seven Indians. Between two of the wolves the clock was secured to a travois affair of stout poles with several layers of tough hide stretched between them; Silberhutte was strapped face-down to the shaggy back of one of the other beasts. He had been unconscious for three-quarters of the time, knocked down by the flat of a tomahawk that had all but caved in his skull when the wolf-warriors overran him, and de Marigny had at first feared him dead. When at last he had seen the Texan move, then Silberhutte's aerial colleague had been both vastly relieved and delighted, particularly when the prisoner had turned his head on one side to gaze skyward, nodding his awareness when he saw the cloak belling out like a great kite on high.
De Marigny marvelled at the strength of the wolf-warriors that they could go so long without resting. Four rode upon the backs of the wolves while the others half-ran, were half-dragged along beside the animals, their fists knotted in the shaggy hair of the huge beasts' flanks. Periodically they would take turns about riding, but even though they obviously relished this occasional respite, still they seemed singularly tireless. But while the stamina of the redskins was not in question, de Marigny himself was beginning to feel very tired, cold, and hungry. Time and again he thought to bless Kota'na, whose fur he wore so gladly.
Twice he had let the party move well ahead before descending to solid ground and giving himself a little exercise, rubbing the numbness from stiff limbs and shaking the weariness out of a head that still ached abominably. On both occasions he had caught up with the wolf-warrior party easily enough afterward, but now his fatigue was such that he began to despair. Surely they must rest soon, when he too might be able to snatch a little sleep?
But it was not until several more miles had been covered that the party made camp. Silberhutte was bundled down from the wolf's back and given food — the sight of which, whatever it was that the Texan was offered, made de Marigny's mouth water — following which the Warlord's hands were tied again, and he was put into the close care of three guards. The other four Indians immediately settled down on the naked ground and went to sleep, as did the wolves.
De Marigny was amazed at the apparent invulnerability of these men to the cold (even in this more or less temperate zone the temperature was well down), until he remembered what Silberhutte had told him about the Wind-Walker's effect upon those who came too close to him: the permanent alterations his presence wrought in human tissues and body temperatures. This was why the Warlord's hands always seemed so cold while he himself suffered no discomfort in the most bitter conditions. As for de Marigny: he was growing colder by the minute. His one consoling thought was that however bad his plight might seem to be, Hank Silberhutte's was so much
more desperate.
As soon as he was sure that the party was settled in for a few hours at least, de Marigny flew off to one flank and sought a place to hide, shelter, and rest. He found it
some miles away in a small cave, whose entrance was all but covered by scrub, and there he rested down, pulling Kota'na's fur close about him .. .
When he awakened, de Marigny guessed that he had slept overlong. His limbs were stiff and he was colder than ever. Beating his arms across his chest to get the circulation going, he left his cave and came into the open. Then, with his fur wrapped about him to its best advantage, he took once more to the sky.
To the north the sky was overcast, bearing the merest threat of a storm. When de Marigny had arrived on Borea, he had flown high over the plateau, remembering it now as a grimly foreboding jut of grey rock standing massively up from a vast plain of snow. He knew that it could not be long before he flew back into that region, and that then indeed he would be hard put to survive in such low temperatures. Moreover Silberhutte had told him that was where the Children of the Wind were most densely concentrated, where they worshiped Ithaqua at his totem temple. If the Texan's captors got him that far, then there would be no further hope of rescuing him.