Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (47 page)

 
          
How
long he sat he did not know, but in time he realized that the purple cloud
seemed to have drawn closer. The effect was to suggest an impingement of the
horizon, as if the sky itself closed down upon him, and he rose to his feet,
staring at the rack. It had, indeed, moved, for it now covered a greater area
of the sky, no longer banding the horizon but extending toward him to fill
perhaps a quarter of the heavens. Its movement grew steadily more visible as he
watched, the forward edge advancing remorselessly, like a massive storm front
driven by howling winds. On and on it came, until it was overhead and he stood
in shadow, craning his head back to watch it loom above hin\and possess the
remainder of the heavens.
Abruptly the landVas dark.
Not the obfuscation of natural night, in which stars
imd
moon provide sufficient illumination for keen eyes to see/ but a total
blackness that denied all vision effectively as a blindfold. He turned to study
the weird advance, seeing the/blurred outlines of the mountains swallowed, the
viridesceiyt sun disappear, and found
himself
blind.

 
          
For
a moment panic gripped him, memories of the darkness that had fallen when
Borsus’s sword took his sight returning,
then
he
clutched the talisman and found the solace of calm in its touch. His racing
heart slowed and he realized that he had panted in his fear, hearing his own
breathing regulate. He lowered himself to the ground, reaching about until he
located the glaive, settling the blade across his knees and only then releasing
his grip on Kyrie’s stone.

 
          
Pale
blue light shone forth, wan in that all-encompassing occultation, but
immeasurably reassuring, for it showed him the slumbering forms of his comrades
and, perhaps more important still, told him that the Lady’s power was with him
yet, even in this outer region of Ashar’s domain. He could not see beyond the
limitation of the radiance, but even that small benefit was welcome when the
alternative was total absence of sight, and he sat listening for sounds in the
darkness.

 
          
None
came and his eyes grew heavy, his chin dropping to his chest. He shook himself,
not sure what might happen if he fell asleep, but at last acknowledging that he
could no longer remain awake and prodding Tepshen.

 
          
The
kyo was instantly alert, rising with sword part-drawn to stare about as he
realized that darkness had fallen. Kedryn explained the advance of the cloud
and Tepshen paced beyond the aura of the talisman, fading almost instantly as
though swallowed whole by the unnatural night. He returned moments later to
announce that nothing was visible save the blue glow of the stone.

 
          
Kedryn
stretched on his own blanket, the talisman hanging outside his tunic, and saw
that the radiance persisted.

 
          
“Sleep,”
Tepshen advised. “If the light fades I shall wake you.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded and fell instantly asleep.

 
          
He
woke to find Brannoc settled cross-legged a little distance away, staring at
the sky with a quizzical expression. The world was once again a confusion of
red and orange, the heavens livid as heated metal, the grass a burning copper,
the sun again hanging massive and green to their rear.

 
          
“Tepshen
told me what you saw,” announced the half-breed wonderingly, “and a little
while ago the cloud rolled back northward. This is a very strange place,
Kedryn.”

 
          
“Aye.”
Kedryn grinned, cheered by the return of light, even
of so odd a hue, and climbed to his feet.

 
          
Tepshen
woke moments later and stretched, yawning, offering no comment on their
surroundings. It seemed to Kedryn that the easterner’s natural pragmatism
allowed him to accept more easily their circumstances, for he set to rummaging
in his satchel as if they woke on some Tamurin meadow after spending a night
beside the trail. His apparently casual acceptance of their situation was
comforting, communicating to the others so that they, too, brought out
provisions and settled to eating breakfast as though commencing a normal day.

 
          
They
began to march again, holding to a steady pace, detouring when fresh stands of
the dangerous trees appeared, but always returning to their northward course,
the line of purple cloud enlarging as they moved inexorably closer. They halted
when hunger indicated and then walked on, halting again when the cloud once
more rolled toward them, judging the duration of the “day” to be somewhat
longer than that of the world outside, perhaps the length of midsummer’s day.
The temperature was unvarying and the wind continued to blow from the north,
the odor of rotted fruit growing stronger.

 
          
After
four days of the march they saw the river and the first of the creatures.

 
          
The
stands of leprous timber had fallen away behind them, while ahead stretched the
band of carmine that marked the watercourse. It wound in a great arc across
their path, red as blood and glistening with an oily sheen. The creatures, a
group of six, stood along the bank, watching their approach. They were the size
of
carthorses,
their bodies segmented like an
insect’s, prompting Kedryn to think of giant ants. The bulbous hindpart
extended four angular legs, twig-thin, to the ground, while a narrower section
slanted upward, two heavier limbs that ended in serrated pincers thrusting out.
The heads were oval, armored like the other parts of the body with celadonite
chitin, three round bulges of the same color suggesting eyes, below which
opened a circular orifice surrounded by thin hairy growths. They turned to face
the oncoming men, the crimson surrounding their mouth parts implying they found
sustenance in the red river.

 
          
“Are
they hostile, I wonder?” mused Kedryn.

 
          
“If so, we are likely lost.”
Tepshen indicated the groups
farther down the bank, to left and right. All had ceased their activity and
were turned toward the visitors, immobile as statues.

 
          
“We
cannot avoid them,” Brannoc remarked, fingering the hilt of his saber. “Nor can
we run from them.”

 
          
“Then
let us approach,” Kedryn decided.

 
          
He
began to walk toward the insectile beings,
who
remained still, the only movement the slow rotation of their eyes as they
studied him. Tepshen and Brannoc came
behind,
ready to
fight should that prove necessary.

 
          
Kedryn
halted scant paces before die closest of the things, looking up at the smooth
head. It lowered as though examining him, then the fronds abouts its mouth
became agitated, throwing droplets of crimson all around. Immediately a
high-pitched cluttering sound, almost beyond the range of human hearing, rang
out and the six creatures facing them, and those farther along the
bank,
began to snap their pincers. Kedryn reached for the
hilt of the glaive slung across his back, prepared to sell his life dearly as
he could.

 
          
Instead
of attack, however, the creature he faced ducked its upper body, the limbs
thrusting out and down until they touched the ground. The head drew level with
Kedryn’s and the cluttering sound softened.

 
          
“Does
it abase itself?” murmured Brannoc, amazement in his voice.

 
          
Kedryn
stood his ground, staring at the blank bulges of the eyes and slowly released
his grip on the sword. The creature extended a tentative limb. Kedryn heard
Tepshen’s sharp intake of breath and said, “Do not attack! I do not believe it
offers harm.”

 
          
He
held himself still as the pincered limb came close to his face, reaching out to
touch the hilt of the glaive. The pincers closed about the hilt and chittering
sound rose again. Then the thing let go the sword and dropped its limb once
more to the ground, fixing Kedryn with its unfathomable stare.

 
          
“We
would cross the river,” he said, pointing to the crimson flood.

 
          
The
creature rose to its full height, the ovoid head swung jerkily round, following
his gesture,
then
turned to loom above him again. The
fronds about the mouth quivered, the chittering dropping several octaves to
come within an acoustic range more comprehensible to his ears.

 
          
It
was a while before he understood that it spoke, the words slow and awkward.

 
          
“The
sword,” it said, the sibilants drawn out, the consonants slurred.
‘The bearer of the sword.”

 
          
“Aye.”
He touched the hilt again. “And I would cross the
river
. ”

 
          
“River,”
echoed the creature. “Cross river.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded.
“Aye.
Cross the river.”

 
          
The
insectlike beast rose up, its chittering voice louder, and the groups to either
side began to run,
scuttling
with amazing agility over
the grass until the trio of humans was surrounded by a mass of yellow-green
bodies, their ears assaulted by the high-pitched chittering, as if a discussion
beyond their comprehension took place.

 
          
“Cross
river danger,” said the creature.

 
          
“Still
we must go there,” Kedryn answered.
“To where the cloud
lies.”

 
          
“Mountains
dangerous,” the creature hissed.

 
          
Kedryn
shrugged, wondering if the gesture carried any meaning for the antlike being,
and said, “We must. Is there any way to cross the river?”

 
          
The
thing stared at him for a while, then raised its head and issued a burst of
strident sound. Without warning, one of its companions plunged into the carmine
flow, sinking until only its head stood above the surface. A second sprang onto
its back, and scuttled forward, the watchers on the bank staring in amazement
as it struggled against the current, the first creature reaching out its
forelimbs to grasp the hindquarters of the second and brace it. A third
followed, then a fourth and fifth and sixth, and more, until the last emerged
on the far bank, their bodies forming a living bridge.

 
          
One—it
was impossible to tell if it was that which had first spoken, for they were
uniform in appearance—ducked its head in Kedryn’s direction and said, “Cross
river.”

 
          
“My
thanks,” Kedryn replied.

 
          
“You
bear sword. Cross river.”

 
          
He
nodded and stepped onto the sentient bridge. The stream was thick, turgid about
his boots as he tramped the chitinous backs, taking care to avoid the heads.
Tepshen and Brannoc followed him and they reached the farther side without
incident, stepping onto the copper grass to shake their boots free of the
viscid liquid. To their surprise three of the ant-beasts scuttled across after
them, one communicating again with Kedryn.

 
          
“Bearer
of sword
go
...” A pincered limb indicated the
northern horizon. Kedryn nodded, “Aye,” and the thing said, “Take
sword-bearer.”

 
          
It
bent its hindlimbs, lowering itself to the ground, clearly intending him to
mount its back.

 
          
“Is
it to be trusted?” asked Tepshen, warily.

 
          
“They
have offered only help so far,” Kedryn responded. “It seems Drul’s sword grants
me authority of some kind.”

 
          
“And
we shall make better time,” added Brannoc.

 
          
“And
save our legs,” Kedryn nodded.

 
          
Tepshen
shrugged slightly, and Kedryn hauled himself astride the creature. Its back was
somewhat wider than a horse’s, but not uncomfortable, and he settled with his
legs dangling before the creature’s first pair, clutching the forelimbs to hold
himself
in place as it rose. Brannoc and Tepshen
mounted the others and they fell into the line behind Kedryn’s beast as it
began to run across the plain.