Kitishane surveyed the scene with undisguised contempt. “Your god does not provide well for his people, Swiba. Why do you follow him?”
“Because he will tear us limb from limb if we do not!” Swiba snarled. “Walk!”
Kitishane did, but caught up with Illbane and muttered, “Why does this Wauhanak demand they sacrifice travelers to him? It means only that merchants will shun this route, and there will be less plunder for himself and the Chamoyards!”
“Indeed it does,” Illbane agreed, “and one more road to the north will be sealed. Why did Bolenkar set the fuchan to guard his pass?”
Kitishane stared. “Then this Wauhanak must also be a creature of Bolenkar!”
“You reason well, and quickly,” Illbane approved.
Culaehra had been close enough to hear the exchange. Frowning, he said, “Why did you not shun this route, too, Ill—” He broke off, staring.
So did Kitishane. “You knew! You knew what we would find!”
“Did you mean us to be sacrificed?” Culaehra hissed, then answered himself. “No, of course not. What is this, Illbane? Another test?”
“No,” the sage said, “another task.”
But Kitishane was frowning. “If you had inquired about the route, Lua would have mentioned it when she told me of your day's doings. How did you know?”
Illbane's eyes lost focus; he gazed into the distance, not seeing rocks and crags for a moment. “I saw many things as I waited until I would be needed ... for this mission, maiden— and there was one who helped me to remember what I saw.” He shook off the mood, but turned to her with a smile and eyes bright with desire—though she was sure she was not its object. “I know what Wauhanak is, and who sent him. That is enough.”
“What is he, then?” Culaehra asked.
“An Ulharl,” Illbane replied.
Culaehra's vitals went cold. An Ulharl! A misbegotten spawn of an Ulin upon a captive human woman! And Illbane thought of it as a task? Surely it was certain death!
He lowered his head and leaned against the weight of the gold, reminding himself that he was a brave man and, now, a trained fighter. If Illbane thought he could best an Ulharl, why then, he could.
But he did not see how.
Up they went, along an incline so steep that it left even the mountaineers short of breath, and Illbane, Kitishane, and Culaehra panted till their throats were hoarse. “Why would an Ulharl live atop so steep a slope?” the big warrior panted.
“So that... those who come ... will be ... weakened,” Illbane wheezed.
Culaehra's stomach hollowed. The Ulharl had chosen shrewdly—and well.
But Yocote frowned. “If an Ulharl is so unbeatably powerful, why would he concern himself over such a strategy?”
Culaehra looked up, astounded. The gnome was right!
Illbane smiled. “Very good, Yocote—you have caught the flaw. Why indeed?”
“Because these mountaineers may be sure their god is unbeatable,” Culaehra said, “but Wauhanak is not!”
Illbane nodded, his smile small but still, and Culaehra leaned against his load with renewed vigor. The Ulharl could be beaten!
Which was good to know, because there was his lair, a huge cave at the top of the incline—but it was more of a hollow than a cave, the inside glittering with inlaid gems around a great gilded chair, its seat as high as a man's shoulder. As they approached, a huge form rose from behind the chair, moving around to sit in it. Culaehra froze for a moment, staring, and fear clamored within him, for the monster man was half again his height and almost as wide from shoulder to shoulder as Culaehra was tall. Even his hips were four feet wide—but they had to be, since the legs that met them were two feet thick. His arms were each a foot across, and his chest was a vast and hard expanse under a mat of hair. He stood cloaked in purple, the color of kings, the color of might—but the cloak was gathered back at his shoulders to show his huge form, naked except for a golden loincloth. He stood a moment, glaring down at the group who advanced toward him. The mountaineers shrank back, cowering in fear, and Culaehra had to fight hard to keep from doing the same.
But Yocote was used to bracing himself against opposing height. He only smiled and said softly, “Very impressive.”
His words pricked the giant's spell; it deflated like a blown bladder. Culaehra felt the fear diminish. Would the Ulharl really feel the need to overawe, if he knew he was proof against all assault? Why, he had used the same trick himself more than once!
And with that memory, Culaehra recognized Wauhanak for what he was—a bully, only on a larger scale than most. With that, the fear disappeared almost completely, for Culaehra knew now that the Ulharl could indeed be beaten.
But how? Bad enough he had so much physical strength. Worse, as the son of an Ulin—however unwillingly—he had magic!
Wauhanak stepped back and sat in the huge chair. Golden bands glittered on his arms, thick rings on his fingers. His hair was a black crest held by another golden band; his face was surly and glowering, with a thick nose, thick lips, heavy chin, and heavy lids over small eyes.
The Chamoyards gathered themselves again and prodded their “captives” on up the slope. When they had come within ten yards, Wauhanak boomed, “Why have you come, frail men?”
“W-W-With offerings for y-y-you, mighty Wauhanak!” Swiba stammered. “Five travelers, and all their goods!”
Wauhanak glared at them, his huge nose twitching. “A rich offering indeed! I smell gold!”
The Chamoyards stared at one another, then swung about to glare at the companions. Culaehra loosed the straps and lowered his pack to the ground.
“Your nose is sharp,” Illbane told the Ulharl, “but the gold is Agrapax's, not yours!”
“How dare you speak so to a god!” Wauhanak thundered. “Down on your face, worm! Down, all of you, and pray that I may let you live!”
The Chamoyards crouched on the ground, moaning, but Culaehra stood all the straighter, fingering his pack straps—which kept his hands near the hilts of both sword and dagger.
“You are no god.” Illbane spoke sternly. “You are an Ulharl, half Ulin and half human! But Agrapax is fully Ulin, with vastly more power than a mere Ulharl! Let us pass, or live in fear!”
Wauhanak threw back his head and laughed, a great booming that echoed off the rock faces and made the Chamoyards cringe in even greater terror than his anger wrought. “Fear, of Agrapax?” Wauhanak jeered. “Why, that absentminded gelding will not even notice your coming! I could eat you whole, and he would not care a bone!”
“Perhaps,” Illbane returned evenly, “but every smith values gold, and he will notice that the metal is borne toward him. Dare you chance his wrath if you steal from him, Ulharl?”
“I am a god!” Wauhanak thundered in sudden rage. “You will address me as a god! Down on your faces, worms, or know the full lash of my anger!”
“It cannot be so strong a lash as all that,” Illbane returned evenly. “Strike, charlatan—or bow!”
His voice cracked like a whip on the last syllable, and Wauhanak roared in anger. From the folds of his cloak he snatched a huge broadsword, as long as a man was tall—but in the other hand he held a wand, with which he made a sweeping gesture that included all the companions while he shouted a verse in an unknown tongue. The rock cracked beneath them, and the companions cried out.
Chapter 16
The gnomes hopped aside, and Culaehra caught the straps of the pack, seeing a crack arrowing toward him. He leaped, landed on the far side, and the crack went past, yawning two feet wide. He started to pull on the straps, then heard Kitishane cry out.
Whirling, he dropped the straps and saw her clinging by clawed fingers to the edge of a crevasse that had not been there before. Culaehra sprang to her aid and caught her arm just as her hands began to tremble with the strain. He set his feet and pulled her up, clasping her in his arms while she shuddered, sobbing with relief. Another shock jolted their feet; they both looked around in a panic�
��and saw the new fissure speeding straight toward Culaehra's pack. He shouted, turning toward the gold—but the crack opened right beneath it and down it tumbled, down into darkness. Culaehra stood aghast, frozen—until he heard a splash far below, and knew he had failed in his trust.
He turned on Wauhanak with a roar of anger, but his noise was swallowed in the Ulharl's bellow as Wauhanak strode forth, sword swinging down at the biggest of the companions. Culaehra was too angry to be frightened; he snatched up his own sword and dagger and stepped out to meet the giant, Kitishane's wail ringing in his ears.
But Illbane, too, was shouting a verse and gesturing. The earth trembled again, the cracks closing as quickly as they had opened. Then Yocote shouted syllables, and huge shards of stone fell from the crags above, straight toward the head of the Ulharl. But the giant must have understood the words, for he stepped aside with only a brief glance upward as he shouted, “Chamoyards! Slay that vermin! Rend that gnome, or I shall rend you!”
The Chamoyards came out of their paralysis with a jolt and started for Yocote, their spears lowered to center on him. The gnome pulled the limber rod from his waist and chanted as he bent it double. The mountaineers' spears bent even as the rod did, till they pointed back at their owners. The men dropped them with curses and leaped back.
“Cowards and fools!” Wauhanak roared. “Will you let a mannikin's tricks afright you? Strike him—Ulahane!”
The curse in the old tongue brought all eyes instantly to the Ulharl, then to follow his stare. They saw the wand in his left hand drooping, bending back on itself.
“You struck better than you knew, my student,” Illbane called with a grin.
The Ulharl dropped his sword and set both hands to the wand as he chanted; it began to unbend—and Culaehra, seeing his chance, shouted and charged.
Wauhanak heard and spun about, dropping the wand and catching up his sword barely in time to deflect Culaehra's blow. The warrior sprang back, cursing himself for a fool to have cried out and given warning—especially now that the huge blade was circling through the air with a hum so low that he felt it in his bones and saw the edge whirling toward him.
Kitishane, kneeling, loosed an arrow.
It struck the giant's shoulder; his swing went wide, the great sword clashing on rock. With a bellow more of anger than of pain, he plucked the arrow out of his flesh and hurled it at her. She leaped aside, but the Ulharl shouted a couplet, and the arrow swerved to follow its mistress. She dropped flat to let it pass over her, but it dipped and struck.
Lua leaped and almost caught it out of the air—almost, but only batted it aside. It pierced Kitishane's buttock, then fell off, for Lua had taken most of the strength from its flight. Kitishane shouted in pain, then ground her teeth to keep further shouts in—but Culaehra roared in rage to hear her cry, and ran back, swinging his sword up at the Ulharl's belly.
Wauhanak grinned, chanting a verse as he swept his palm up in a magical pass—but Illbane chanted, too, his voice a counterpoint beneath the Ulharl's, and whatever Wauhanak had intended to happen, did not. Culaehra's sword lanced into his stomach.
It bit into skin as tough as hardened leather, but stabbed through, for Wauhanak grunted and doubled over, his eyes almost starting from his head. When Culaehra pulled the sword back, its tip was coated with scarlet. The sight filled him with blood lust; he leaped, slashing at the giant's face with a howl of victory.
But the wound was slight in the Ulharl's great bulk. Wauhanak caught his breath and straightened, rising beyond reach of the sword, and swung his left hand with a roar of anger. The blow sent Culaehra spinning; he crashed against the rock face, and the world went dark for a moment. Something dinned in his ears; shouts came to him as if from a distance, dimly; tiny points of light moved and winked out against that darkness, and kept on appearing even as he began to see a blurred world again. He shook his head, trying to clear his sight, and felt a stabbing pain in his side. He held very still, and the pain ebbed—but his vision cleared, and he saw the Ulharl roaring as he swatted at Kitishane and Lua with his great sword. They were far beyond his reach, though, stinging him with arrows. His main concern, however, was Illbane; the rock was scorched in a long arc between Illbane and Wauhanak, pitted as though eaten by huge moths with iron jaws. As Culaehra watched, the air suddenly filled with a hundred glittering points speeding toward Illbane—but the sage swung his staff, and most of them disappeared. A few turned and shot back at the Ulharl. He shouted a curse and waved; the points melted away only inches from his chest.
Kitishane shot an arrow into that target.
Distracted by the magic battle with Illbane, Wauhanak failed to see the dart until it struck into his hide. He howled with pain and rage, leaping toward Kitishane, huge sword whirling up—
Culaehra shouted and charged in.
Kitishane skipped back out of harm's way, but Wauhanak saw Culaehra running toward him and turned his blow to slice at the warrior. Culaehra ducked under the swing; it struck the cliff face, chopping out a rock the size of his head—a rock that shot straight at Kitishane. Too late, she saw it coming and tried to dodge, but it grazed her hip hard enough to swing her about and slam her against the wall. Culaehra didn't see, saw nothing but the huge head hanging above him with the gloating smile, the maw opening to send a laugh between great yellowed teeth ...
Culaehra leaped and thrust with all his strength, straight into that great yawning mouth.
Then something struck him; the world went dark again, and pain shot through his whole body. Dimly, he was aware that he was moving, flying ...
And slammed into something hard. He must have lost consciousness for a minute, for when next he could see, forcing himself upright, the giant was kneeling, Culaehra's sword on the ground before him, blood gouting from his mouth, hands flailing about to strike anything he could.
Beyond the Ulharl's reach, Lua sent a dart speeding. Too small to notice, it stabbed into Wauhanak's eye, stabbed deep. He snapped upright, rigid for a moment. Then, like a tree chopped through, he leaned and began to fall, faster and faster, until his body slammed full-length onto the rock before his cave, jarring the whole mountainside. High above, a rock moved, slid, then fell; a huge boulder crashed down to crush the giant's torso.
For a moment the mountainside was still, everyone staring at the fallen Ulharl in disbelief. Culaehra stared, too, breathing in hoarse gasps. Then, warily, he stepped closer, and when he saw how deeply the boulder had struck, saw the glaze in the one still-whole eye, he knew without any doubt that the monster was dead. A grin he couldn't stop spread across his face, and he loosed a bellow of joy. The Ulharl was dead, but the warrior was alive! His enemy had tried to slay him, and lay slain himself!
Then the Chamoyards began to moan. They sank to their knees, throwing back their heads to wail. But Yocote turned away from them to run to Lua, who knelt with her face in her hands, weeping.
Swiba ran at Illbane, spear high, raving. “Our god! Vileness, evilness! You have slain our god!”
Alarm vibrated all through Culaehra. He ran at the mountaineer, to kick his legs out from under him. The pain in Culaehra's chest struck through to him again, staggering him as he brought Swiba down. The mountaineer fell hard, losing hold of his spear and flailing about for it as Culaehra, ignoring his pain, set a foot on Swiba's wrist. The man went limp, sobbing. “You have slain our god! What shall we do now?”
“You will become free men!” Illbane told him sternly. “Think, Swiba! If we were able to slay him, could he have been a god?”
Swiba stilled, the sobs catching in his throat.
“No, no god at all!” Illbane said. “Even his Ulin father was not a god, but only a sort of super-man! Even Ulahane the human-hater could be slain, and Lomallin's ghost slew him, then even slew his ghost! Surely this, his shamed and degraded half-human son, was even less!”
Swiba's head snapped up. “What was he, then?”
“An Ulharl, an Ulin's son begot upon a human woman by rape, by
nightmare and terror. Only a slavemaster, nothing more. He was a younger half brother of Bolenkar, the heir to the human-hater, heir to his hate and his working of wickedness! I doubt not that Bolenkar sent him here to terrorize you, to slay and mutilate some of you until the others cowered in horror, vowing to obey—sent him here to grind you into a life of depravity and degradation!”
The other Chamoyards stared, awed by the revelation. Swiba stared, too, as he climbed to his feet, but asked, “Why us? Surely we are too small a tribe, dwelling in too remote a place, to be of importance to any of the great powers!”
“No human being is of too little importance to one who has sworn to slay all the younger races,” Illbane returned, “and your tribe lives astride one of the routes to the north. Bolenkar wishes to keep us from that far land, and sent Wauhanak here to use you as tools to block our way.”
“You?” Swiba stared. “Wauhanak was sent to stop you?”
“To stop whoever wished to go north on our quest,” Illbane affirmed.
“A god, sent to stop mere mortals?”
“You see the need.” Illbane gestured at the fallen Ulharl. “You have also seen that it was not enough.”
“You are mighty indeed.” Swiba looked from one to another in awe. Lua looked up, startled, then began to speak, but Illbane cut her off. “Even so. Yet we are only human, as are you. What we can do, you may learn.”
“But how shall we fare without our god?” one of the Chamoyards wailed, and another cried, “Aye! What if the chamois come not, if the sheep all die? What if the rains fail?”
Culaehra frowned; even the pain in his side could not distract him from the senselessness of their worries. “How is this? Did you think Wauhanak kept the game within range of your spears, or kept the rain falling?”
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