The Hammer of the Sun (51 page)

"Judge of our land and our king, then!" said Elof. "Your kin have a new home for the asking, shipmaster!"

"I'd that in mind!" said the old man judiciously. "Given he knows the worth of a good sailor, mind…"

"None better," grinned Roc, "him having been a seafarer himself in his wild youth. But if we're to save anything in that realm or this, we must make haste, shipmaster!"

Trygkar jerked his thumb at the taut sail. "I don't call that dawdling! We're running for the southern shore now But we'll have to beach her in another day or so, anyhow; daren't get too close to the Gate!"

"Daren't?" blazed Elof. "We'll have to! We can't carry stores so far overland!"

"Well, Mastersmith, let me give you the same answer: we'll have to! By day the Gate guards would spot us afar off, and by night - well, it's a madman's risk! That's a rocky shore, beset with shallows and rough water; the flow from the falls through the lakes is fierce, and the nearer the Gate the worse it gets."

Elof considered. "There you know best, shipmaster; but to trudge overland for days, laden with supplies, that too could well get us spotted. At the very least it will put the Ekwesh on guard if they find our tracks. But suppose…" He bent and stroked the plumes at his feet. "Suppose you had a watcher who could pass over the waters ahead, spy out such obstacles even in the dark?"

Trygkar looked at him in great wonder. "You can do that? Then by Verya's sweet apples, we might just risk it!"

So it was that in the dimming end of twilight, two evenings hence, a shape was flitting about the river that, from afar, might have been a great black bat in search of fat moths. It settled itself at last upon the foredeck of the cog, and the light of an uncovered brazier flared briefly behind the widespread wings; then it was as quickly quenched as they folded and enveloped it. It was an eerie sight and Elof was acutely aware of the white-rimmed eyes of the watching sailors. "It's nearly clear now!" he whispered urgently to Trygkar. "Round the point, skirt the sandbar there, and some jagged rocks well under the surface, and there's a sheltered little bay, fine for a beaching!"

Trygkar gave a curt nod, hissed a command, and the eyes vanished in a flurry of motion. Elof spread his wings, wider even than the cog, and let himself fall forward on the air. It was cloudy, moist and still, strangely tense and breathless as if it had caught their excitement, and flying was cooling relief. Over the bows he glided, and circled over the channel the cog must follow. As had happened once or twice already, the tip of a rock gouged into the protesting timbers; depths were hard to judge, even skimming the very surface of the water. It sounded deafening in the stillness, and Elof winced; but no great damage was done, and the cog rode free into haven.

There was still force in his wings, and finding a light updraft from the land he swooped high over the tangled forest, spying out signs of movement, yet took care not to rise above the slope and be silhouetted against the stars. The forest was silent and still, save for the scufflings of the tiniest beasts, and, greatly encouraged, he sank to the treetops and ventured a closer look at the grim bulk that bridged the narrow vale no great distance ahead.

His teeth clenched with a snap as he saw the lights that burned yellow in the upper windows; but he forgot the dreadful memories that aroused when he noticed that there were no outside lights at all. Normally sentries needed a few, at least, to save them slipping down long stairwells or over low balustrades; here there were none, and not a single guard to be seen. He did not know what to make of that. But then his wing-beat began to falter, and banking swiftly in the air he glided back down to the cog.

Its barrel hull looked absurd, canted over to one side in the shallows; from the side a frenetic unloading had already begun, with figures scuttling ant-like up and down the gangplanks. A few, Roc among them, made no move to help, but stood with bows to hand, watching the forest. With little force in his wings Elof landed awkwardly, and they ran to help him up. "Safe, I think!" he gasped. "Even up by the Gate; no guards, nothing stirs there… And yet -"

"And yet!" echoed Roc, with a shiver. "We'll take no chances passing
that
place by! How goes it, Trygkar?"

"Well on, Master Roc! First of the portage sleds loaded to the limit, the others almost. Five men to a sled, and we'll manage what's left on our backs! And swiftly, for I smell a storm in the air!" The old man paused, embarrassed. "But what of you, Mastersmith? These paths will be too steep for you. Will you ride on one of the sleds, or shall we carry you also?"

Elof felt his blood race; he could not go back to being a cripple, a mere burden, not now. "Neither! Kindle me a good fire, and I'll fly!"

Roc growled. "What'd we agree? What if you're seen?"

"In this haze? A bird, that's all! There's no telling distance or detail! Besides, what if I'm needed aloft on the far side? We can't just stop and build a fire there!"

"True!" said Trygkar decisively. "I'll have it laid, but not lit. You must wait till we're hard by the crown of the hill! Then if it is seen they'll at least start looking in the wrong place; and you can catch us up in minutes."

So it was agreed; and as the little party began its long haul up the slope Elof was left, doubly helpless under his powerless wings, to watch the cog steered out by its three remaining crewmen. Since they were moving with the current now, they had less trouble in regaining the main stream and heading west again. It would be a long time before they were in safe waters once more - but how much longer for him?

An hour passed, and another, more wearisome. He looked at the fire, and at the heavy clouds overhead; a breath of cold air stirred the heavy leaves around him, ruffled the plumage of his wings. Was that a distant rumble? At the first drop of rain he would have to light the fire, or risk being stuck here; but some of these summer storms came on very quickly and heavily. He twisted around, and his keen eyes pierced the murky air, following the slight disturbance high among the trees that marked the progress of the sleds, marked where a brace of birds flew up, squawking in alarm at the intruders. They were making good time, better than he had feared; but they must be tiring, plodding along on legs that felt like molten lead, hot, heavy and agonizing. He found himself pitying them; flight seemed so natural to him already, his braced legs a minor hindrance. If there was a clear patch he might even be able to help them with their burdens…

He sat up straight. A chill droplet had touched the back of his neck. He looked up, and after a moment another touched his cheek. That was more than enough; he fumbled desperately with the tinderbox they had left him, blew a glow into the shavings and struggled to transfer it to the kindling of the fire -
Powers, was it damp already
? Down the vale from the southeast echoed a crackle, a rumble. The kindling steamed and sputtered and sizzled, then quite abruptly it flared, a single yellow flame that spread into a wavering line. The wood above it blackened and caught, a sudden swirl of air only swelled it, and in minutes the pile was a roaring cone of flame. Above it hung the great wings, hiding its light, shielding it from the rain; then they swept down, and in a moment the droplets hissed upon spent embers from which the last glow had been drunk. The crystals in corselet and gauntlet had turned the fire back upon itself, redoubling its ferocity till the wood was consumed in an instant. Now the wings thrashed with its heat, and their wind scattered the ashes among the damp sand, dispersed even the smoke. Nobody would see it now. A flicker raced through the sky above the cliff tops, even as Elof rose from the beach and soared up the slope.

The storm was following fast; he went leaping out of its gusty vanguard like a dolphin from a bow wave, and swooped down over the heads of his fellows as they reached the crest. But there was nowhere clear enough for him to land, he swept past and saw with alarm that he was circling past the upper levels of the High Gate. They looked strange, somehow, as if their louring profile had been changed. And still he could see no guards -

Then a blade of awful light smote across the sky. Somewhere far behind him the lightning struck, blazed through the heavy air, and the High Gate stood out stark in its glare. Elof recoiled at what he saw there; for it was not that the profile of the tower had been changed. Above the colonnades, curled protectively around the circumference of the tower, he looked upon a vast length of back all set with scales like smooth irridescent shields, the curving flank of a body narrow only in proportion to the thing's sheer size. Above it lay folded wings that dwarfed even his; one leg jutted out like a crazily angled buttress. The vision came and went in an eyeblink; darkness returned, and hot red images behind his eyes, then the thunderclap came, a tearing, unending crash, and the air took hold and shook him. At the far end of the tower scales rattled, and a huge head lifted and swung like a ship's spar; yellow eyes larger than Elof s head cast about, this way and that, malevolent glitters in the renewed blackness. Rigid with fright, he let himself fall, drift down on stiffened wings, cursing himself for not having been warned by the sights he had seen - great flame scars on the earth, a land devoid of food, sailors and soldiers scared of the very sight of wings. And a sight this must be, aloft; for it was twice the size of the dragons that had assailed the duergar capital. In developing his fire-weapons he had forgotten that the Ice could command a living flame of its own; small wonder no sentinels need be posted. He was almost among the treetops before that huge head sank down again; it had missed him in the gloom. He turned wildly and went plunging after the others.

He reached them just as they were about to cross the bare crown of the ridge, and was able to land among the thickets. "Makes little odds!" said Roc, though he spoke from a dry throat. "We were going to beware of Ekwesh sentries anyway -"

"This thing is sentry and army both! And it must move more swiftly than any, aloft. If sentries spotted us we might still get away; but not if it does!"

So they crept slowly across the clear land, lifting the laden sleds bodily rather than run them over even the slightest obstruction; here Elof could help, for there was still power in his wings, and without the added strength in them and his own arms they might not have managed, for they were weary after their climb. No man spared a thought for the view ahead till the sleds were under the trees lower down; but then Roc and Trygkar slunk back up, with Elof above them casting many awed glances at the indistinct bulk on the terraces and cursing the gloom that made every shadow seem to move. They fell flat among low and tangled bushes, with Elof s wings to cover them, and took stock of what they saw.

Against the ocean's faint glimmer it seemed for a moment to them all as if the shore directly below the (.ate was lined with thickets of dead trees, stark and skeletal. Then lightning pulsed among the clouds, and by its glow Elof recognised them for the bare masts and spars of ships beached, or riding at anchor in inlets and streams. "Quite a bloody fleet!" whispered Roc. "And no wagering whose - look at the shape! Ekwesh longships, every one!"

"So much the better for us! Trygkar, a few of the lads can get the supplies down the gentler slope to that point there, while we head down this steeper way; then we can take them aboard as we head out!"

"But won't we need all the crew to…"

"I think not! Better to do this quietly, if we can; and with the rain to aid us, we might! By the way those fires are scattered about, they can't imagine an enemy coming within leagues of them; and there are no lights on the ships. I'd guess they'll have set no more than a token guard, and that mostly to watch the weather, or one clan thieving from another. And if that's so…"

The rain came as they were scrambling down the precipitous slopes that flanked the Gate, making an already perilous climb far worse; Elof flew, and more than once he had to rescue some unfortunate who slipped in the rivulets of mud that came gurgling down through the undergrowth. Every time the lightning flashed overhead they froze, pressing themselves flat to the slope, while Elof swooped away to avoid drawing attention to them, fearful that at any moment he would see that vast yellow gaze staring down at him with the malign intelligence of a minor Power; its fire he might resist, but those jaws could pluck him from the air with a single bite. The storm lingered on the ocean's edge, as if waiting for a change of wind, and it took them a good three hours to reach the gentler slopes below the Gate. They had come a way no army could hope to, and they were exhausted and chilled; but here of all places, on the margins of the Ekwesh encampments, they did not dare rest.

Nor were they grateful when a lull came in the storm, for they had hoped it would cover their escape. Here and there sentinels began to emerge from shelter and relight campfires; and one of these stood squarely in the way to the ships. So it was that a terrifying winged shadow descended suddenly upon that fire, and with a single sweep of its pinions snuffed it out; in the instant of darkness other shapes swarmed over the stunned guards. The act was swift and merciless, and because of that it was silent. "Now light that fire again," ordered Trygkar, "lest any of the other swine notice! We'll have to wait for the rain now…"

Elof held out a restraining hand. "Not necessarily! We will need the rain later; but meanwhile there may be another way…"

Now he was high over the longship they had picked out, the guard no more than an outline leaning over the rail, gazing out into the bay as if listening to the soft boom of the surf under the rain. Perhaps at the last second he saw in the dark water astern some glimpse of what was coming, for he whirled swiftly about, his spear lifting, his mouth opening to shout. But they were his last thoughts, his last acts, and he did not live to complete them. The next moment he was high in the air, breathless as a fish plucked from the ocean in the talons of the swooping raptor; he was a strong warrior, but those talons broke him, and let go. The other watchers heard no more than a faint splash from out in the bay.