On the fourth day, about mid-morning, the trail started down in a series of hairy switchbacks that left no margin for error.
They almost lost Grogha when his horse came close to losing its footing, but he was able to keep control in the nick of time.
Macore and Joe consulted Algongua’s map and decided that they were coming down to join the main trail which was rising to meet them. The Starmount Gateway, then, would be only a few miles ahead of them and where, again, they would be on their own. Still, it was supposedly only eight or nine miles from the Gateway actually a natural pass that opened onto the great Starmount Plateau to the cave they sought.
That brought another sobering realization the Xota could be anywhere, starting now. As fliers, they could leap down from hiding places above, or swoop in in aerial attacks. The Company was suddenly acutely aware of how exposed it was on the high trail.
The junction was certainly not far, perhaps just around the next bend, from the looks of it, when Macore put up his hand, halting them, and turned and put a finger to his lips.
Joe, just behind him, frowned and whispered, “What’s the matter?”
“They’re ahead of us. Probably laying for us,” the little thief whispered back. “I can almost smell ‘em. But I heard a horse snort and shuffle.”
As quietly as possible, Joe relayed the message back.
“Horses!” Marge exclaimed to Dacaro. “Then this won’t be the Xota.”
“No. These are the ones we have feared. Obviously they got here ahead of us and set ambushes at this end of both trails.”
Macore slipped off his horse, aware that he had very little room on the trail. He drew his sword and made his way forward, in front of his horse. Slowly, with a thief’s skill and practice, he crept ahead and soon more or less oozed around the bend in the trail.
They all drew their own weapons, but aside from Joe’s getting in front to hold Macore’s horse, there was little he could do. They waited anxiously, fearful that the little man had been taken.
Finally, though, Macore slipped back around as quietly as he’d gone. “There are six of them,” he whispered softly to Joe.
“They picked a nice position, too. We would have been exposed at least three hundred yards on the trail. They may have been there for some time. They’re all dismounted and seem to be mostly sitting around looking bored. That will change the moment we appear, though.”
Joe thought about it. “No way to sneak up on them?”
“Not unless you can fly,” the thief told him. “Three hundred yards to a broad, flat rocky area with some trees and bushes where we Join the main road. It ain’t much when you just gotta walk it, but it’s ten miles when you’re fighting. And this drop is all the way to the junction, almost. There’s a mighty big hole until the trails join.”
Joe nodded and looked down. He could see the other trail, only forty yards or so away on the other side, but in between was about a four hundred foot deep gap. He thought furiously.
“All downhill?”
“You said it. Real grade, too.”
“I wonder considering none of us can fly, and we’d be suckers for crossbows...”
“So? So?”
“How about a charge? You sure they don’t know we’re here?”
“Pretty sure. Did you say a charge?”
“Uh huh. As soon as we round the bend, go for a gallop.
Full charge, yelling and screaming, weapons brandished and ready.”
“Are you crazy? The horses will probably lose their footing and fall into the ravine!”
“Yeah but if they don’t, it will sure surprise the hell out of those men, won’t it? They’ll have to pick up and aim their weapons; maybe some of ‘em will have to mount up. Three hundred straight downhill yards... I figure maybe twenty, thirty seconds at full gallop at the worst. Maybe even ten.”
Macore shook his head wonderingly. “It’s impossible.”
Joe grinned. “That’s what they think, sure. You go tell the others.” He looked back and sighed. “I wish Posti was in front, but you’ll have to do as the leader,” he said to Macore’s brown horse.
Macore went back, talked to the others, then made his way forward again. “They all think you’re nuts, top.”
“Anybody got another idea? We can’t back up not enough room. We can’t fly over that ravine. We don’t have any way of climbing down, even if we were willing to desert Posti and Dacaro. And the longer we stay here, the more likely it is that one of us or one of the horses is going to give us away.”
Macore nodded glumly. “I know, I know. But if we must commit suicide, why do you have to be so logical about it?”
He looked at his horse. “Who leads?”
“You take Posti and brief him. He’ll come through. I’ll take yours.”
“That I won’t argue about,” Macore responded honestly and made his way back once more.
“When I raise my sword, be ready to follow,” Joe called after him. “When I drop it, we start.”
They all drew their weapons and waited tensely, eyes on Joe. Both Marge and Houma had small crossbows with a supply of bolts conveniently in front of them; the other three held swords at the ready. It wasn’t much of an attack force, but would have to do.
Macore glanced nervously around. “I hope he’s as good a rider as he thinks he is,” he muttered aloud.
“I hope we’re all better fighters than I think we are,” Grogha responded worriedly.
Joe raised his great sword, positioned himself, and was ready to begin when he heard Marge say, “Wait!” in a loud whisper. As tense as he was, it was almost enough to start him off, anyway, but instead they all turned and looked questioningly back at her.
“I can call a friend,” she told them. “One who will cause one hell of a ruckus. That will give us the diversion we need to go in.”
“A friend?” Macore repeated, frowning. “Here?”
“A unicorn,” she told them. “My protector.” 7 hope, she added silently to herself. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of him earlier.”
Joe was skeptical. “How the hell can a unicorn get here in time?”
“I don’t know, but it all just came back to me. What have we got to lose?”
He thought it over and knew the answer was “Not much.”
He nodded and said, “Okay, give out the call. The rest of the plan stays the same, though. If this unicorn comes thundering by, it’s the ball game, so as soon as we’re sure they’ve seen or heard it, in we go. Got it?”
They nodded, but none, not even Marge, really believed in any sort of unicorn savior.
“Stay away from the unicorn no matter what,” Marge warned.
“He’s friendly only to me.” With that she sat back, tried to concentrate, and said, more mentally than physically, “Konku come! I am in great danger and need your help!”
For a moment nothing happened, and Joe relaxed, turned, and raised his great sword once more. Then abruptly there was a roll like thunder and the sound of hooves, and they saw the great magical white beast coming toward them, riding the air above the ravine, level with their road. Marge smiled, then gestured for the creature to move to the opposite, main road and continue. The signal was taken and heeded.
Around the bend, there were sudden shouts as the men in the ambush both heard and saw the creature charging in upon them. At that moment Joe dropped his sword and kicked his horse in the ribs. The time for thinking was done, The others quickly followed, yelling, as was Joe, to add to the confusion.
Posti kept Macore almost in the rear end of Joe’s mount, showing the guts he had displayed so long ago at the Circean’s farm. Next came Marge and then Houma, who released their initial crossbow bolts as soon as they could see the men in the wooded clump. Grogha brought up the rear, his horse pretty much taking him along, and tried mightily not to fall off.
The sight of the great unicorn bearing down on them was a complete shock to the defenders, who had been very lax up to now. They
looked up and saw the charging white, single-homed apparition and were frozen for a moment; then they moved as one to counter it, toward the main road and away from the high path.
At that moment, the riders came around the bend with their yells, and the defenders were caught, divided in their attention and ducking the first bolts sent their way, even though those were far short of any mark.
Two, though, were clearly pros, archers who jumped up, bows ready, and let loose two wild shots in the direction of the exposed party. While neither hit the mark, the archers were shooting and reloading with a fluidity that seemed almost inhuman.
Koriku sensed the immediate threat in the archers and lunged for them with a snort that became something of a roar, landing on both and knocking them down. Suddenly he was the enraged carnivorous beast Marge had seen in the fields, spearing men with his great horn and rending flesh with row upon row of sharp, pointed teeth set in powerful equine jaws.
By this time Joe had reached the guardpost itself. In maneuvering around the unicorn, he exposed himself to the no longer dazzled defenders. He felt an arrow pierce his side and he whirled and bore down on a crossbowman who was now trying to reload, running over the hapless man and trampling him. Joe’s horse went down, rolling on top of a swordsman who screamed in agony, but Joe managed to jump off and come up on his feet, the arrow in his side now causing some bleeding he was too charged up to notice.
Between Joe and the unicorn, the defenders were turned inward, allowing the rest of the party to make it in relative safety. Posti hit the ledge with his hind legs, kicked off, and landed full on top of another archer, who also went down as did Macore, who flew from Posti’s saddle and spilled onto the rocky ground, losing his sword for a moment.
Marge and Houma had managed to reload, and each took out a swordsman, one of whom was running for his horse, which was tied up in the rear. Another soldier leaped from a rocky bluff and carried Grogha over onto the ground. The portly man struggled with his larger assailant for a while, but blood was trickling from his month and he was in great pain. When it was clear that Grogha was out of the fight, the soldier abandoned him to writhe and moan there and turned to Macore, just now getting groggily to his feet. The soldier, a huge, bearded man in black uniform and chain mail, towered over the little thief, and the first blow of the soldier knocked Macore’s sword away; a second, with the flat striking Macore’s head, sent the little man reeling backward, coming to rest in a bush where he groaned once, then fell back, still.
Now the soldier smelled victory and turned on Marge. Koriku, finished with his archers, saw the move, turned, and in a great leap was upon the bearded man, first pushing him down, then knocking the sword from the man’s hand with his great hom. As the huge equine head came down and the gaping, blood soaked jaws filled the soldier’s vision, all confidence vanished and he screamed in terror.
Joe, for his part, took on another swordsman. It was quite a duel, since the soldier was extremely good and obviously well trained, but Irving’s magic always seemed to provide the proper counterblow and move into every opening. Finally gaining the upper hand, Joe flung the sword from the other’s grasp and then plunged his own into the soldier’s abdomen. The man gave a terrible cry, bent over backward, then collapsed in a heap.
Marge saw another uniformed shape come from behind a rock, sword in hand, toward Joe’s back. She let loose a bolt that penetrated the attacker’s chain mail, and the man gave a horrible cry that brought Joe quickly around. Irving wasted no time in finishing the man off.
Houma looked around, saw the bleeding and broken Grogha, and cried out the man’s name, riding swiftly to him. Joe spotted Macore’s limp form in the bush and ran to him. Marge leaped off Dacaro and ran first to Macore, examining him for vital signs.
“Is he dead?” Joe asked worriedly.
She shook her head. “Not yet. But he’s in a bad way, I can tell. Help me get him down here on the grass and keep him still. I’ll see about Grogha.”
Houma was leaning over the portly man, and there were tears in his eyes. “Grogha, you filthy pig, don’t you dare die on me!” he shouted. Marge had some trouble getting him away, but then she bent down and examined the fallen man’s wounds.
Her moderate powers of witchcraft came to the fore, for they included diagnostic and healing arts. She tried to soothe Grogha, who was conscious but in terrible pain, while she probed his body.
Finally she sighed, got up, and went back to Joe, who asked her, “How is he?”
“Beyond my powers,” she responded sadly. “So is Macore, although he’s not nearly so bad off. Macore’s got at least a nasty concussion and a broken rib or two; Grogha’s got bad internal bleeding. I’m afraid a rib may have punctured a lung.”
Joe thought frantically. “Wait a minute! Magic’s gotten us out of a number of scrapes. Don’t they use it instead of doctors here?”
She looked up at him, suddenly a little cheerier. “I’ll ask Dacaro,” she said and jumped up on the horse. “Can you do anything?”
“Perhaps,” the adept replied. “Perhaps not. It will depend on the nature of the injuries. But there is no good way for me to treat them as it stands. It’s not like spoon feeding you a spell. I will have to project myself inside each and effect whatever repairs, major and minor, are needed as I go.” He paused a moment, thinking hard. “There might be one way, though.
Do you trust me enough to let me take over your mind?”
The question startled her. “Can you do that? If so, why should I object if you can help them?”
“Because if you consent and assist, I can. But considerI do not have to reverse it once it is done. You will have to trust that I will do so.”
She understood what he was saying now, but she looked at the unconscious Macore and the limp form of Grogha, which, even now, had only the most tenuous of threads to life, and made her decision. “What do I do?”
“I’m certain Huspeth taught you the trance state. Clear your mind. Make it as blank as possible. You will feel me enter but do not resist, for that will simply seal me off. Let it happen.
Understand?”
“I can do it. Let’s hurry, though. I’m afraid we’re already too late.”
“That is up to the gods,” the adept responded fatalistically.
“Let us do what we can.”
One of the archers was badly wounded but still alive. Joe checked all the soldiers’ bodies out, finding little or nothing on them, and then went to the archer on whom his horse had fallen. The horse itself was in bad shape, he could see, and would probably have to be destroyed. Posti, at least, had come through with nothing more than a bruise.
Like the others, the injured soldier was dressed in a silvertrimmed black uniform of some kind, chain mail, and a partial helmet, and was ruddy faced and bearded. The man writhed and groaned in agony, but stopped when Joe approached and just stared with eyes blazing hatred at the man who’d done him in.
“How many did the Baron send to the cave with you?” Joe asked coldly.
“Barbarian!” the soldier gasped defiantly. “I die, but I tell you nothing!”
“You die slowly, friend,” Joe noted and looked up, then back at him. “Already the buzzards and other scavengers are gathering. You could last a long time here picked alive by beak and claw. It’s a pretty unpleasant way to go.”
“Do what you will,” the man responded.
“I’ll pull you out from that horse and give you swift release,”
Joe offered. “Swift release and burial from those that eat the dead. I’m not asking for a betrayal. Only the answer to a couple of questions.”
The man seemed to think it over, and Joe knew he’d hit a nerve. “What does it matter, anyway?” the soldier asked mostly himself. “What questions?”
“How many in the Baron’s party?”
“Thirty six of his best fighters.”
Joe felt uncomfortable. If that was the truth, there were still thirty like this man ahead.
&nbs
p; “How far ahead are they?”
“More than half a day,” the soldier told him. “They left at dawn.”
That, too, was disturbing but if it was only a few miles to the cave, why hadn’t they returned by now? Joe wasn’t sure whether he should feel better or worse that they hadn’t returned.
The fact that they hadn’t meant they’d walked into some big trouble and they were thirty seasoned army men. As of now, he had Marge, himself, and Houma in any shape to go on.
“One more question. They went up the main road here?”
The dying soldier nodded. “Yes. There really is no other way.”
That was enough. He looked down at the man and drew his sword. “Too bad you’re with the bad guys,” he said softly, “but you’re a good soldier, a gallant fighter, and you die with honor.”
The man looked genuinely pleased and touched by that.
“Hold, barbarian, one moment. That sword is a magic one that will slay me. Which great name does it bear?”
“Irving,” Joe replied.
The man looked aghast. “Irving?” he repeated unbelievingly.
Irving came down and severed his head from his body at that moment. Then Joe tried to get the body out from under the horse, and almost made it, when he suddenly felt dizzy and collapsed over the horse’s torso.
Chapter XIV
The Genie With
The Light Brown Hare
All magic lamps, charms, etc., shall be guarded well.
- LXXX, 494, 361(b)
He was rolling down interstate 80, a buxom blonde at his side, a beer in his hand, and Merle Haggard on the tape deck as the miles flashed by. It was a wonderful, satisfying life, and it was good to be alive ...
“He’s coming ‘round!” a voice called out from somewhere, somewhere far from I 80 and the blonde and the beer.
“Clean towel!” another voice ordered, wrenching him farther and farther away. Something was wrong, really wrong, and even Merle Haggard was singing English madrigals in a foreign tongue...
He opened his eyes and looked around. It took a minute or so for him to remember where he was, and who these people were, and the details of the day. He could see that it was dark now, and there was a small fire in the wooded glade. He saw Marge come to him with a towel soaked in hot water, bend down, and wipe his face.
The River Of Dancing Gods Page 25