"That I do, Torquil," said the man, rushing to unlock the manacles. Other men emerged from concealment, eager to make use of the key. "I harbor no fond memories of my iron," he told the man on horseback.
"Colwyn will suffice, Kegan. There are no kings on this journey. Only fighters."
"Rather a fighter defending my back than a king any day," said Kegan. "No offense, m'lor—Colwyn."
Colwyn formed an immediate liking for the man and wondered what terrible circumstance had forced so pleasant a fellow to follow so grim a path. Perhaps he would find out, though such men tended to guard their pasts as zealously as they did their gold.
"Nine like you are worth an army," he said as he inspected each of them in turn. "Soldiers spend too much time on secure, peaceful walls, too much time dreaming away easy nights in comfortable barracks. Each day you do battle with life itself. Soldiers have time to forget what their profession is all about. Like anything else, it is a trade that must be practiced to be perfected."
"Practice we've had aplenty," Torquil told him. He turned to his men. "You heard him, you smelly lot. It's official. We are now an army." There sounded a loud squeal and he looked down at his ankles. The piglet was easily swept up in the vagabond's arms.
"Well, well, our dinner comes to join us tonight. A fortunate meeting indeed." The pig squealed louder and squirmed in Torquil's grasp.
Colwyn peered closely at the porcine prisoner. "Don't be too quick to set a place. I think that's Ergo the Magnificent."
"Looks more like roast pork to me, though a mite skimpy. I certainly wouldn't call it magnificent." He prodded one ham.
The pig twisted violently. Torquil let out an exaggerated sigh. "Ah well. Shame. He's your companion, and I've yet to eat a friend, or even a friend of a friend."
"Look on the ground nearby. You'll probably find a scrap of paper with a formula written on it."
Obediently, Torquil bent to scan the damp earth, still cradling the unhappy porker. Perhaps they would be lucky and there would be no such paper. He was hungry. Ah, but there it was. He picked it up and scanned the writing. The words and symbols meant nothing to him, but in his grasp the pig squirmed excitedly. He held it before the questing snout.
Then he was holding a white cloud that was part pig and part unhappy traveler. The cloud disappeared with a sharp pop and he found himself grasping a small man by the back of his shirt.
"Put me down, you lout! I can still turn you into a pig!"
"Yes, your demonstration of your powers has been most convincing," Torquil said wryly.
"With hot fudge sauce, Ergo?" Colwyn inquired. Ergo eyed him sourly but said nothing as Torquil let him go. He tried to straighten his shirt and dignity, both of which were badly ruffled.
"You had better manners as a pig," Torquil told him, "and it's plain to see you're still something of a ham." He looked up at Colwyn. "Of what use to you in your quest is this midget?"
"Now look here, you hirsute oaf, I—"
"Peace, Ergo," said Colwyn tiredly. "And you, Torquil. Every man has his talents to contribute." Ergo accepted that and managed to calm himself. "We will need all the help we can muster. Now we must go, now that everyone has been properly introduced." He chucked his reins and started off down the path. Torquil and his men followed.
Only Ergo, still miffed, hung back, shouting after them. "Ergo the Magnificent does not travel with thieves and cutthroats! I am no companion of bandits and murderers! I do not lie down to sleep alongside pickpockets and wife-beaters!"
The fog swirled in around him, already masking Colwyn's party. Shapes began to form in the fog, unworthy of notice when traveling with companions but suddenly sharp and demanding now that he stood by himself.
One of the gray nebulosities blinked; a single, one-eyed blink. Ergo gaped at it but it did not vanish.
"Except when necessary," he muttered to himself as he scurried after the others with admirable speed.
Several days of uneventful travel brought them to a hillside overlooking a devastated valley. Once it had been a picture of villatic contentment. Now it was a panorama out of hell.
Smoke rose not from cook pots and comforting fireplaces but from half a dozen burning towns. The wails of the distraught and the screams of injured men and dying animals rose from the smoking vale. Colwyn was glad they were not close enough to see any more than they could from the hillside. Silently the men resumed their trek along the crest of the heavily wooded ridge.
"Why do they burn the villages?" Torquil asked grimly as he marched alongside Colwyn. His gaze kept returning to the ruined valley. "There's nothing to gain. They never carry off booty or even food."
"They do it to keep us down," Ynyr explained. "Men who must concern themselves with rebuilding homes and replanting crops have no time to think of other things, no time for philosophy or science, learning or art. They force a lowly existence upon Krull."
"But why?"
Ynyr gave a little shrug. "Their intent is clear if not their ultimate motives. Perhaps they find it amusing to torment us. Perhaps they have other reasons." Torquil felt the old man wasn't telling all he knew, but the thief did not know how to pry the information out of him.
"You say there's nothing to gain," Colwyn told him. "You're wrong. There's fear to gain. You don't have to burn every village to control all. Raze one to the ground and the neighboring dozen may acknowledge your rule. Burn one valley and you might control a kingdom. They acquire such fear with fire. They spend it to rule."
"So do many human kings."
"But not all."
"No, not all." Torquil grinned. King or not, this Colwyn of Turold was a likable chap. With the right kind of upbringing he might even have made a proper thief. Torquil could bestow no higher praise on a friend.
Ergo had been listening closely to this conversation as he shuffled along behind the horses. His eyes had widened as the import of the conversation became clear.
"Is he a . . . a king?"
The tall ruffian striding along next to him, one Bardolph by name, nodded once. "Colwyn of Turold, or so Torquil believes. Heir to the combined kingdom of Turold and Eirig." He shook his head in disbelief at the circumstances that had overtaken him. "From fugitive to king's service in one morning. I never thought to see such a day. I must say it's nice to be able to walk about freely in the daylight once again."
Ergo cared little for Bardolph's musings, full as he was now of his own fearful misgivings. "Oh dear, oh my. Oh no. I threatened to turn him into a toad. He might have done anything. He might have ordered my head chopped off."
Bardolph instantly assumed a somber mien. "As a matter of fact, I seem to recall some conversation to that point, friend. Yes, I remember distinctly now. He and Torquil were chatting and he reflected upon that very business."
"What—what did he say?"
"He did order it. Your head to be cut off, I mean. He told Torquil, who referred it to me. I'd just forgotten all about it until you reminded me. 'Bardolph,' he said, 'chop that little man's head off. He'll never miss it.' " As he spoke he was sliding a very long, gold-plated dagger from his belt. Now he thumbed the shiny edge and eyed Ergo speculatively.
Ergo backed away from him. "Stay away from me, you bloodthirsty hooligan! King's orders or no king's orders, I can still turn you into a toad."
Bardolph took a step toward him, smiling and fingering the blade meaningfully. "Or a pig, perhaps? I've seen your work and thus am quaking in fear. Come, make yourself useful and compliant all together. Turn yourself back into a pig. It's been some time since I've enjoyed fresh bacon."
"I'm warning you, I—" He stopped, frowned, and began sniffing at the air.
"What is it?" Bardolph asked curiously.
"I'm not sure. The fragrance of heaven, maybe."
Bardolph favored him with a look of disgust and slid the dagger back into its scabbard. "Well, don't linger too long over it or you'll find yourself left behind." He increased his stride and moved up to talk with Kegan.
>
Ergo fell off to one side. Still sniffing, he angled into the bushes, shoving branches aside as he progressed. A bush heavily laden with dark, pungent blotches soon came into view.
"Gooseberries! Ripe ones," he added in a tone usually reserved for funerals. He plucked one, popped it into his mouth and chewed. An expression of pure bliss came over him. "Ah, the nectar of paradise. Providence has taken pity on me and has seen fit to compensate me for the travails of the past days." He began picking at the bush, shoving gooseberries into his carry-pouch and every available pocket.
So intent was he on his task that he paid no attention to the rustling in the bushes nearby. When the crunching of leaves and twigs underfoot became too loud to ignore, he turned just in time to see the black face of a Slayer staring down at him. A handful of gooseberries fell to the ground, forgotten.
The Slayer stepped out of the copse. Ergo looked around wildly, too terrified to cry out and certainly beyond attempting any incantations. Big as the Slayer was, it seemed certain to remain unaffected by any mumblings he might muster, even if he succeeded in finding his voice.
Bending over, he grabbed up a broken branch and brandished it in the Slayer's direction. Its hand dropped to the battle-ax tied to its waist.
The bush on Ergo's left moved. Reflexively, his gaze moved from the Slayer to the bush, to see an enormous cyclops step into the clearing. He was holding a tree-sized trident, or so it appeared to Ergo. All this was too much for an essentially gentle mind. Ergo's eyes rolled up and he fell unconscious to the earth.
The Slayer too had taken note of the cyclops's appearance, but its reaction was not what Ergo would have anticipated. It let out a violent hiss, then whirled and retreated, crashing madly through the bushes. The cyclops considered its departure for a moment, then moved forward to bend over Ergo's crumpled body. Fingers touched Ergo's forehead. Then the one-eyed giant turned and hurried off in pursuit of the fleeing Slayer.
Colwyn turned in his saddle to look back along the line of men. He spoke to Torquil. "My friend is lingering longer than usual."
"Perhaps he had business in the trees," said Torquil noncommittally. Bardolph overheard and moved closer.
"We were, uh, jesting with each other when he smelled something and went exploring. I told him not to fall behind."
Colwyn's gaze returned to the empty trail behind them. "He'd better not. I don't want to lose time waiting up for him."
They heard the scream then. It hung long in the air, making the horses start, before finally fading to silence. Somewhere behind them a life had disappeared along with that scream.
Colwyn turned his horse. "Back, and quickly!" The others rushed after him.
There had been an evening of the most exquisite delights, Ergo recalled, spoiled only by the unexpected early arrival of the young lady's husband. This propitiated the most unfortunate defenestration of the reveler, who was saved from a early death only by the fortuitous passage at the critical moment of a hay wagon beneath the good lady's window.
His head now reminded him of that night, for it throbbed as strongly as if he'd struck the street instead of the wagon. It seemed that the outraged husband had followed him even this far, for someone was peering into his eyes. Or into his eye, rather, for surely one could not penetrate where two could see? Or were there two eyes, small and bright red and alive with malicious intent? He could not tell. It was very confusing.
"There he is!" a voice shouted in the distance. The eye or eyes vanished. He struggled to call out but only a disreputable gargle emerged from his strained throat. Footsteps sounded close by. Then he remembered and tried to sit up.
A hand braced his shaky back. "Easy there, Ergo" That was Colwyn, he thought. Colwyn's voice and his strong arm. He did not remark on the familiarity between king and commoner. Colwyn was an uncommon king.
"Are you all right?" another voice inquired. Torquil there, examining the supine body. "Doesn't seem to be any bleeding. No sign of a wound."
"Only to my mind," Ergo mumbled. "Horrible. It was horrible." He tried to point, but discovered that his fingers shook as he gestured with them. "A creature with no eyes over there, and over there another with only one eye, and the both of them preparing to decide who was to have the pleasure of cutting me up, I'll wager,"
"A cyclops," Ynyr murmured, raising his head to search the nearby trees with suddenly interested eyes, "and a Slayer. And our poor Ergo caught in the middle."
"I can't vouch for the Slayer, for he had yet to draw his weapon, but the one-eye was aiming a spear right at me! I would have turned him into a rat if . . . if . . ."
"If what?" asked Torquil.
Ergo's gaze fell. "I, uh, seem to have forgotten the formula."
"Nothing to be ashamed of, Ergo," Colwyn said reassuringly. "To be surprised by two such formidable individuals would give even a king pause."
"That's true," said Ergo, feeling much relieved.
Ynyr continued to study the surrounding trees. "If the cyclops had been aiming at you, my magnificent little friend, you'd be dead now instead of offering us descriptions of your intimidating visitors."
"If not at me, then who?"
Ynyr spoke without turning. "He was aiming at the Slayer, for there is an ancient hatred between them. It was the Slayer whose death rattle we heard, then.
"It is said that long ago the Cyclopes' ancestors lived on a world far from Krull, and that they possessed two eyes like other humans. Then they made a bargain with the Beasts who command the Slayers; they gave up an eye apiece in return for the power of precognition."
Torquil's brow furrowed and Ynyr patiently explained. "The power to see into the future. But they were cheated, for the only futures they were sensitized to . . . permitted to see . . . were the times of their own deaths. It is said that precognition is but a dream even to the Beasts, but that by a certain artifice they can sometimes instill such an ability in others not of their race, in particular the means to see the time of death forthcoming. This they cannot do for themselves. It may be that they therefore experimented upon the unfortunate cyclopes, hoping to learn that which would enable them to make use of this ability themselves.
"There are others who say all this is so much myth and superstition. Of one thing there is no doubt. The cyclops are sad, solitary creatures, and they hate the Slayers and their master worse than any normal man, for it is not meet that anyone should have forewarning of his day of death."
"Today would have been my day, then," murmured Ergo as he climbed to his feet, "if it hadn't been for him. And I thought he meant me harm. I am ashamed."
"No reason to be," said Ynyr. "Their appearance is fearsome and they rarely seek human companionship. It may be that this one is different."
"Not very different," said Torquil. "You'll notice he didn't hang around to greet us."
"I am sorry he did not," said Ergo sadly, "for I would like to give him my thanks and offer my apology for having suspected ill of him."
"It would not matter to him one way or the other," Ynyr explained. "The cyclopes react the same to thanks or imprecations. Each attends to his or her own wants and cares nothing of what normal men think of them. If he saved you intentionally, and it seems certain that he did, he had reasons of his own for doing so."
"Reasons most excellent," Ergo agreed. Having reassembled, the expedition headed back toward the trail, but not before Ergo had checked to make sure that the terrifying fracas had not cost him his supply of dearly won gooseberries. He'd suffered too much to abandon them now.
Colwyn was not pleased to find that the trail climbed above the wooded ridge. Once more he found himself traversing bare rock broken only by the occasional wind-dwarfed tree. He did not like open, cold places. An imaginative man might find his mind wandering among the boulders and ravines, unwillingly transforming them into malign lines and designs.
That sharp, dark jumble of serrated granite off to his left, for example, might well be the exterior of the Black Fortress. That was a ba
rrier he would confront soon enough, and he drew no joy from the image. He preferred to think only of Lyssa and the few moments they'd shared. The forest reminded him of her. The naked stone did not.
Odd how so powerful an attachment could be formed on the basis of so brief an encounter, he mused. It was as if they had been man and wife for years instead of merely newlyweds-to-be. It had surprised him then and had seemed to surprise her as well. Only Ynyr did not seem surprised at the extent of Colwyn's feelings for a woman but fleetingly met. But then, little seemed to surprise Ynyr. Turold had been very different.
Thoughts of his father turned Colwyn's mood dark and he fought to concentrate on other things. Consider the side of the mountain they were approaching, for example. That was an object devoid of emotional overtones. Bare rock was no candidate for melancholy reflection. It was an elemental vision that brooked no mental coloration, a cliff of clean granite towering several thousand feet cloudward. There is no false pretense in stone, he thought. It can be trusted with idle thoughts.
He looked over toward Ynyr. The old man sat stolidly in his saddle, staring straight ahead. There was nothing in his posture or expression to indicate that he intended to change direction. Colwyn studied the cliff they were approaching more intently. It could not be climbed.
Ynyr finally stopped at the base of the mountainside and dismounted. Colwyn did the same. The old man spoke to the young king and to Torquil.
"We three will go."
"Go where?" The bandit chief eyed the cliff unhappily. "Up that? I have strong fingers and have been in some difficult places, old man, but I am not a bird."
"Nor am I," Ynyr reminded him. "We are not going to do any climbing." He glanced past him. "The rest of you will remain here to guard the horses."
"We four will go." Ergo hastened to join them. "I'm not staying here with these criminals!"
"Why, what's wrong, Ergo?" asked Kegan. "Don't you trust us?" Behind him, a grinning Bardolph lightly fingered the point of his golden dagger.