“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.

  The gait was smooth and it moved at a pace for swifter than any horse could attain. Kedryn found himself enjoying the sensation of speed, watching the ocher grass flash by beneath the narrow limbs, the line of purple cloud loom steadily closer, jagged hills becoming visible beneath the overcast.

  Before another day had passed they reached foothills, jumbled stands of dull brown rock that angled steeply upward toward even more craggy peaks overtopped by the cloud.

  The ant-things halted and Kedryn’s said, “Not go farther.”

  Kedryn dropped to the ground. “You have my thanks,” he said.

  “You bear sword,” answered the creature, and without further ado began to run back the way they had come, its companions behind.

  The three men watched them disappear into the orange haze of the distance and turned toward the hills. They were the color of fresh-baked brick, sharp and high, the cloud that hung above more malignant with proximity, like poisoned flesh. Cliffs showed, pocked with caves, and stunted shrubs thrust spikey limbs from crannies where puce soil found footing. The lower slopes were straited with gullies, a rocky maze that wound up to the more vertiginous levels.

  “Let us rest,” Kedryn suggested, “and climb tomorrow.”

  “Sound advice,” agreed Tepshen.

  They found a cleft surrounded on three sides by rock and spread their blankets on the sandy soil, waiting for the cloud to extend across the plain, wondering what lay ahead.

  Chapter Twelve

  When the cloud once again extended its light-absorbing blanket across the sky the proximity of the hills seemed to render the darkness more intense. It seemed now of an almost palpable density, as though the intangible matter of the air itself became tainted with the purple occupation. The radiance of the talisman lessened, encompassing a smaller area, and Kedryn wondered if its power decreased as he progressed deeper into the regions of the netherworld. It made little difference, for his determination burned fiercely as ever and he realized that they had come too far to contemplate turning back. The bloody river was a barrier they could not hope to cross unaided and he could not be sure that the ant-creatures would prove so helpful a second time, consequently they had no way to go save forward, over the hills and on to whatever strangeness lay beyond. He was, anyway, more immediately concerned with what lay on this side as he stood his turn on watch, listening to the sounds that came out of the blackness like the echoes of nightmare.

  The nights they had spent on the plain had been marked by a silence deep as the darkness, and he had considered that eerie, but now £e thought fondly of that soundlessness as his ears were assailed by strange, indefinable noises that set his flesh to creeping and settled his hands firmly about the hilt of Drul’s glaive. There were scuttlings and leathery rustlings, clicking sounds, gurglings, and sucking noises that made him think of gigantic insects pouncing and draining their prey of body fluids. He would have clutched the talisman for comfort, but was afraid such action would dim its light and allow the creatures he heard moving over the higher slopes to approach, so instead he steeled himself to remain alert, struggling to ignore the apprehension that threatened to leech his courage. He was happy to relinquish his watch to Tepshen, and happier still when Brannoc shook him awake, for his sleep had been filled with ugly dreams.

  The day was no different from the others, except that now when he looked up he saw the cloud directly overhead, looming above the jagged hills so that the brick red shading of the lower slopes became transformed through crimson to a dark umber where the topmost peaks seemed to touch the rack. The breeze was warmer and the odor of rotten fruit stronger, the caves that pocked the cliffs ineffably menacing.

  “Perchance whatever creatures inhabit the holes emerge only by night,” Brannoc remarked, eyeing the openings with unalloyed distaste.

  “We shall be up there then,” Tepshen grunted, shouldering his pack.

  “Unless we find a pass,” the half-breed said hopefully.

  “Even so ... Tepshen shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.

  “Mayhap one is occupied by Taziel,” Kedryn suggested.

  “I see no fire.” Tepshen shook his head. “I think the smith’s forge must lie deeper.”

  “There is but one way to find out.” Kedryn smiled grimly and began to climb.

  At first they made their way along a gulley that slanted steadily upward, wide at its opening, but then narrowing until they marched between high walls of red stone. Finally it became too narrow to permit further passage and they climbed out, finding themselves on a shelf of serrated rock confronted by a cliff that angled slightly backward, presenting sufficient handholds for them to work their way to the top without excessive difficulty. They clambered over jumbled rock and assailed a second cliff to a narrow ledge that ran along the face of a steeper scarp, smooth and bereft of the irregularities that made climbing possible, a cleft showing to the right. Between the cleft and their position a cave opened its dark maw at head height; in the opposite direction there were three.

  “One would seem the lesser of evils,” Brannoc muttered, “and mayhap that crevice will afford us passage through.”

  “Mayhap,” agreed Kedryn and, being the closest, set to edging his way along the ledge.

  The shelf allowed no room to manuever and he prayed that nothing should attack, for swordwork was impossible in those narrow confines. He moved slowly, sliding first one foot and then the other over the rough surface, his arms spread wide, fingers seeking cracks and abrasions that might grant him purchase, his cheek close against the stone. As he drew nearer to the cave the reek of decayed fruit grew stronger, cloying in his nostrils and threatening to dizzy him with its fetid sweetness. He reached the cave, its floor level with his shoulders, and felt the breeze, hot now, ruffle his hair, the stench nauseating. Something moved within the darkness and he heard a scraping against stone, a sharp clicking sound. His senses rebelled against knowledge of the cave’s occupant and he forced himself to peer into the shadowed interior even as he increased his pace along the ledge, anxious to be past the menacing orifice. He saw nothing, however, and went by without incident, calling a warning back to his comrades. Tepshen followed him, and then Brannoc, and it seemed the half-breed’s surmise of the creatures’ nocturnal habits was correct, for nothing emerged to threaten them and Kedryn reached the opening of the cleft safely.

  It was wedge-shaped, as though an ax had split the mountains, rending the stone to produce a long cut that thrust inward, dark and forbidding. Little light penetrated the gash, the purple cloud obscuring the illumination of the vermilion sky, but the ledge ended there and the floor offered firm footing: Kedryn eased inside.

  Tepshen and Brannoc joined him and they contemplated their situation, deciding to follow the cleft as far as they could, for it seemed to offer ingress to the heart of the mountains, and hopefully an exit point that would take them higher.

  The ground beneath their feet was thick with pulverulent rubble, their steps raising clouds of russet dust that hung thick on the steadily warmer air. The reek of moldering fruit was almost overpowering, and as they progressed they saw a profusion of caves marking the walls above. By unspoken consent they increased their speed, stumbling through the gritty debris of the floor, their inward passage taking them steadily deeper into the shadows. There was no breeze within the cleft and the dust plastered faces become sweaty with the effort of the climb, clogging in eyes and nostrils so that they blinked tears and began to cough, spitting the acrid stuff from their mouths. Urgency possessed them and they cast frequent glances upward toward the cave mouths, momentarily anticipating the emergence of the dwellers within.

  After a while the cut turned, hiding the entrance, and what little light there had been faded dramatically. They moved now in a weird twilight, dark purple above and dull red below, feeling the floor begin to angle upward, aware that its incline must take them close past the lower of the caves they could just make out pocking the walls.

  The sounds Kedryn had heard emanating from the first cave were louder, as though the obscuration of light allowed the inhabitants a greater freedom of movement, and they hurried as best they could on the uncertain surface, feeling their way with hands thrust out to the walls and lungs protesting the constant inhalation of dust-laden air. It seemed, after the length of the days on the plain, that relatively little time had passed before the light waned altogether. Directly beneath the cloud, there was no warning of its movement and they were abruptly plunged into darkness. Brannoc cursed volubly, his sentiments, if not his fluency, echoed by his companions. Kedryn clutched the talisman, praying fervently that the Lady guard them as he heard the sounds of the previous night return.

  “We have no choice but to halt,” Tepshen declared as the pale blue radiance glowed. Adding, as he cocked his head and stared into the blackness, “With drawn swords.”

  Kedryn and Brannoc followed his advice, Keshi saber sliding from scabbard, Drul’s great glaive from the sling on Kedryn’s back. There was barely sufficient room within the cleft to swing a sword and the three comrades stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blades leveled at the ominous night, knowing that any attack must be faced head-on.

  The noises grew, clickings and scrapings and rustling sounds, punctuated by strange, shrill whistles that preceded the horrible sucking noises, as if numerous many-legged things emerged from the caves above them. They could see nothing beyond the nimbus of the talisman and that, for all they felt an instinctive loathing of whatever monstrous creatures stalked the night, was somehow worse, their very real anticipation of physical danger magnified by its unknown quality.

  It occurred to Kedryn that something might well descend upon them from above and he transferred the glaive to his shoulder, angling the point up that he might stab at anything offering harm from that quarter.

  Then Tepshen said softly, “One approaches.”

  Kedryn turned slightly, peering past the kyo. At first he saw only the glow of the talisman, its light transforming the darkness to a watery, aquamarine glow, as if he stared into a pool, that illumination ending scant paces from their position, pitch blackness beyond it. He heard a scuttling, clattering sound, a little louder than the rest, and gasped as the maker was outlined by the talisman’s effulgence.

  A cold chill clenched his teeth, hair prickled at the nape of his neck, as he saw the thing. He heard Brannoc groan, “Lady be with us now!” and felt the tension that emanated from Tepshen.

  The closest approximation his mind could form was to a spider, for it was a thing of multiple limbs and many eyes. The larger part of the body was a great bloated sac, rusty red save for a mottling of darker maroon like a design upon the upper part, narrowing at its farthest extremity to a wickedly curved stinger from which droplets of carmine fell to seethe upon the grit of the cleft’s floor. From the forward part of the sac ten legs, each thick as a stout man’s thigh, extended, bristling with reddish hairs and holding the repulsive body high above the ground so that the head was level with his own. That was a shiny dark blue ovoid, set all round with huge, many-faceted eyes that glittered agate and implacable, staring in all directions at once. The ovoid ended in a maw in which thick palps were visible, four, curving and dripping a foaming, yellow saliva. Beyond the palps, extending so that the maw was distorted in an attitude of insensate voracity, were two huge mandibles that snapped hungrily together, producing the clicking sound.

  It reared up on eight of its legs, the foremost pair waving as though in challenge, probing the outer perimeter of the talisman’s protective glow.

  “It attacks!” cried Brannoc, loathing and fear in his voice.

  “Then it dies!” snapped Tepshen.

  He moved as he spoke, feet shuffling through the dust in the tight, dancing steps Kedryn remembered from the practice ground. The long eastern sword was raised in a doublehanded grip above his head and while the creature’s two limbs still wavered about the edges of the light it swung down and across.

  One hair-bristled limb was severed close to the body. Before it touched the gritty floor the blade was reversed, sweeping back to strike across the palps, then a third time, slashing back in a flat arc that sundered the other forelimb. The creature emitted a shrill whistling sound, almost unheard under the furious clattering of its mandibles. Viscous liquid spilled from the cut palps, red and malignant as the fluid oozing from the stinger. Tepshen halted barely within the talisman’s light, blade upraised again. The arachnid-like creature seemed to stare at him, its remaining legs bunching as if it prepared to spring. Kedryn saw a second approach from down the cleft and held Drul’s sword ready to strike, but the spidery beast turned aside, scuttling vertiginously up the chasm’s wall and then leaping upon its wounded fellow.

  The disabled monster forgot Tepshen as its upper eyes saw the attacking beast, and it turned, mandibles snapping defensively. It was too late: the other landed upon its back, legs gripping the bulbous sac of the body. The stinger drove down, piercing the carapace; the mandibles fastened around the head and the second monster rode the other as it began to tremble, throwing itself desperately against the walls of the cleft in a vain attempt to rid itself of its assailant. The stinger remained imbedded in its body sac and in a little while the poison took effect. The wounded creature’s struggling slowed, its legs folded, no longer able to support the double weight, and it sank to the ground. The other withdrew the daggerlike appendage and jumped clear. With an awful efficiency it rolled the dead monster onto its back and sank its mandibles into the underside of the belly, tearing a gaping hole into which it thrust its palps. The sucking sounds Kedryn had heard were explained as the corpse was drained.

  “Cannibals,” Tepshen muttered as the victor proceeded to sever limbs and suck them dry, leaving only husks that rapidly disintegrated into the dust that covered the floor.

  He watched as the head of the fallen beast was devoured, then suddenly ran forward, sword arcing to slice deep into the side of the feeding creature. It turned toward him and he hacked through two limbs before darting back. The monster emitted the whistling sound they had heard before and within the instant a third was on it.

  Another was attracted, either by the shrilling that appeared to indicate hurt or the sounds of battle, and they fought, rearing up to clack mandibles and manuevering to place stingers. A melee ensued as more came, spidery bodies hilling, the devourers in turn attacked and eaten. Kedryn found himself hieing one that charged out of the darkness, halting as it faced the talisman’s light, and he swung the great sword down upon its startled head, splitting the ovoid in a great welter of pungent ichor. That one, too, was pounced upon, but while it was drained, Brannoc hacked legs and the feeder was devoured in turn.

  In time the three comrades had no need to fight, for the cannibal spiders killed one another and the men needed only occasionally use their blades, when a beast ventured too close.

  It was a respite that brought them no joy, for the spectacle of the hideous creatures eating was nauseating, the sundered bodies filling the night with the overwhelming reek of rotted fruit, and they were thankful for the advent of what passed for morning within the shadows of the cleft, for the return of the light sent the beasts scuttling up the walls to the safety of their caves. No traces of the ghastly combat remained, the bodies degenerating into dust as the ichor that gave them life was sucked out, and the three, grim-faced and hollow-eyed with lack of sleep, continued their progress into the mountains.