BLOOD IN THE MIST

by E.C. Tubb
The boat arrived minutes before the trumpets sounded and the thick gates of Kerchan slammed against the
night. Standing on the wharf, his back against the lichened stone of the wall, Malkar watched as sweating men poled
the fragile craft to the landing. Others swung a litter from the deck, armed guards trotting beside the leather curtains.
Even as they entered the city the boatmen were poling their craft far into the shallow lake which faced the town, there
to wait, and watch through the long hours of darkness.
Malkar stared after them then, as the trumpets sounded, followed the litter into the narrow streets.
Kerchan was a small place, a walled village set at the end of a winding tributary, busy enough during spring
and summer when the barbaric nomads from the surrounding wilderness came in to trade, but bleak during autumn
and desolate during winter. Certainly not the place to which the high-born would come at the tail end of the year.
And, high-born or not, the owner of that litter was far from poor. The curtains had been of good quality, the
framework of expensive woods, and guards and private vessels did not come cheap.
Malkar paused and spoke to a guard.
"The litter?" The man shrugged. He wore tough leather and thick furs, his weatherbeaten face framed by a
helmet of shaped wood reinforced with strips of metal. "I know not who rode within but it belongs to the merchant
Ileco Quand." He hawked and spat, rubbing his boot in the dust. "Jari, but this is thirsty work. And the night yet to
pass. The wind is from the north and there will be ice on the parapet before dawn. Such weather calls for a cup of
mulled wine."
Malkar passed over a coin. "For your health," he said dryly. "Can you tell me ought of interest about the
merchant?"
"He is rich and why he stays in Kerchan only the gods can tell. But he has many men and has been buying
supplies. Horses, pack animals and things a party would need if traveling by land." The guard looked at Malkar,,
staring with professional interest at the thick cloak, the brigandine, the Phaddocian helmet riding low above deep-set
eyes of winter gray. A mercenary, he decided, a soldier of fortune perhaps down on his luck. The hilts of sword and
dagger sheathed in ornamental scabbards showed signs of wear and no man of peace would carry a knife in one of
his high boots. "You are new to Kerchan?"
"I arrived yesterday."
"You chose a bad time. Those with wealth have gone and only the lowly remain. The chance of employment
is small. Mayhap I could find you a place on the walls. Rough fare and scant wine but you'll have a place to sleep and
be safe from thieves. Zachazeb is my name. Ask for me if all else fails."
From the gate Malkar moved deeper into the town. Already it was growing dark, the flaring light of cressets
touching the mean houses with splotches of dancing color. More light spilled from the main square, brightest before
the caravanserai in front of which he saw the litter. A couple of guards lounged beside it, tankards in their hands,
ignoring the cluster of ragged men standing close.
Passing them Malkar entered the tavern and bought a hunk of dried meat together with a flagon of cheap
wine. It was thin, acrid, but it helped wash down the stringy flesh. Armed men, perhaps the guards of Ileco Quand, sat
drinking. A bare-footed girl begged alms, dodging questing hands with bored experience. A bearded Quendarian
goaded a mangy, dancing bear.
To one side sat a man wearing a robe of yellow held by a crimson sash. His black hair was piled in a knot
above his skull and his slant-eyed face had the color and texture of ancient parchment. A bowl stood before him into
which he probed with a pointed stick, spearing scraps of food which he popped into his lipless mouth. Between bites
he talked and a handful of youths listened. Malkar recognized the man as a wandering philosopher, spouting wisdom
in return for his food, earning his way from land to land.
Sipping his wine he listened to the discourse.
"There are those who hold to the belief that we live in Sheol, that this world is hell to which we are sent to
expiate our sins for evil done in some other existence. Maybe so, what man can know the Master Plan? But I do not
think this is the case. I believe that we, each of us, hold within ourselves the elements of both Heaven and Hell. That
we each make our own misery and our own joy and we do it in the manner we regard the world."
"Master?" One of the youths frowned. "Would you clarify? I confess that I do not wholly understand."
"Please, Yung Hoo, I also lack comprehension." A second youth added his voice to that of the first. " The
philosopher dug into his bowl and looked thoughtfully at a segment of chopped worm wriggling on the end of his

stick. He chewed, swallowed, looked at Malkar.

"You seem a man of experience, sir. Would you enlighten these youths?"
Malkar set down his wine. "A man who has nothing can be miserable or joyful. Miserable because he lacks
what others possess or joyful because he has nothing they can take. A man with one leg can be happy he has not lost
both. Always, if you seek it, there is reason for thankfulness and joy."
One of the students frowned. "But, master," he protested, "That is the philosophy of the slave. Should
contentment be found in negation? Have you no means to ensure joy for all?"
"Means, no. A rule, yes." Again the pointed stick speared a wriggling morsel from the bowl. "There is only
one path to true happiness. The formula was devised by a philosopher to whom prayers should be offered. It is this;
'let not your reach extend beyond your grasp.' "
"Master?"
"If you cannot acquire more of the fruits of this world then make do with less," snapped Yung Hoo
impatiently. "Why yearn for the moon when it cannot be yours? Is it not simpler to cease from yearning?" Irritably he
stirred the contents of his bowl. "They were sparing with the worms," he complained. "Must I be forced to live on
grass?"
The clash of cymbals answered his question. From the rear a girl came whirling into the clear center of the
room, bells chiming from wrists and ankles, a drum tapping a hypnotic beat as she stamped and swayed with lithe
abandon. Hasty entertainment provided by the owner for the delight of his guests. The girl was young, eager to
please, anticipating the shower of coins which would reward a good performance, but she lacked experience and was
crude when she should have been subtle.
Bored Malkar looked away, narrowing his eyes as he saw movement on the upper gallery. A woman moved
toward the stairs, gliding on invisible feet, the gemmed robe she wore trailing the ground. Wide sleeves fell to the
roots of gemmed fingers. A veil covered her face below the eyes. A net of gold held a mane of hair so blonde as to be
almost white. With delicate grace she stepped down the broad treads.
At their foot, five yards from where she would pass, the bear ceased its listless movements and stiffened, the
fur bristling on its spine.
Malkar rose as the beast growled. He stepped forward as the woman reached the foot of the stair, imperious,
ignoring men and beast alike. The dagger slipped from its sheath as the animal lurched forward, slavering, sickle
claws extended to rip cloth and skin and flesh from the bone beneath. Before those claws could reach their target he
had sprung, one arm locking itself beneath the foaming muzzle, the dagger lifting to sink deep, to lift and bury itself
again in the straining body.
As the animal fell, blood gushing from its jaws, eyes dull in merciful death, the dancer paused, the bells falling
silent, the drum, even, it seemed, the very breathing of those in the tavern.
In the silence the woman said, "Who owned this beast?"
The Quendarian fell to his knees. "My lady, I beg your forgiveness! Never before has he acted so! Even now I
cannot think that he truly meant harm!"
Above the veil the eyes were as hard as hammered steel and the voice held the edge of a sword. "Guards!
Take him. Flog him until he cannot stand." And then, to Malkar. "How can I reward you?"
"Easily, my lady," he said. "Take me to Ileco Quand."
The merchant occupied a room on the upper level, a snug place paneled with silver-grained wood, a fire of
scented logs providing warmth and glowing color. He was an old man, wizened, his slight body muffled in a robe of
lustrous fur. More fur cased his narrow skull. His hands were the claws of a bird, each finger heavy with gems, and his
eyes were hooded like those of a brooding eagle. To one side stood an inlaid table bearing a crystal lamp and a stone
flagon crusted with seals. It contained wine as thick as oil and so deeply red as to be almost black.
"From Eagen," said the merchant as Malkar studied it against the light. "They made a milliad of bottles a
century ago and this is one of the last. I drink to your health."
"And to yours," said Malkar, sipping. The wine was velvet soft to his tongue, filling his mouth with the taste of
honey and herbs, slipping down his throat to expand with sudden warmth in the pit of his stomach.
"Lelenzia told me how you saved her from the bear," said Ileco. "And others things about you I already know.
What is it you desire?"
"A passage on your boat when it returns to the south."
"A small reward for so great a service," mused Ileco. "How did you know the beast was readying itself for
attack?"
"I saw it tense and its fur bristle. Perhaps I smelt its anger. You should warn the woman to change her

perfume. Some scents are not safe to wear when among beasts."
"Lelenzia does not lack protection," said the merchant softly. "I doubt that the bear could have reached her
with its claws, but you were not to know that More wine?"
Malkar held out his goblet, eyes probing the shadows as the thick liquid gurgled from the stone flagon. In the
darkened corners rested bales and bundles, tight-bound and thick with protective symbols. The woman was absent
but the scent of her perfume lingered in the air. A harsh, acrid odor which made him think of tigers. An odd scent for
such a woman to wear.
"The passage is yours if you wish it," said Ileco. He set down his goblet and touched a square of silk to his
bloodless mouth. "But it is a long journey fraught with many dangers. "I would offer you more. Do you have
knowledge of the country which lies to the north and east?"
"No."
"The land of Sheldar and beyond?"
"Wilderness," said Malkar. "Wild beasts and wilder men." He glanced at the bundles lying on the floor. "A bad
place in which to trade."
"Great fortune is not won by lying in feather beds," said Ileco dryly. "And my business is not your concern.
Suffice to say that there is a journey I must make and time is short I have a guide and men to protect me. I would like
to add your sword to their number. In return I offer you a helmet full of golden pieces. A rich fee for any mercenary
as I think you will agree."
Malkar stared thoughtfully into the fire, little flames staining his face with patches of moving color. "You offer
much," he admitted, "but the way you speak of will not be easy. The year is dying and snow will lie thick to the north.
A dead man cannot spend gold. And I like not to venture into mysteries. You are rich and too old and wise to risk
your life for what you already have."
A log fell, throwing out a shower of sparks, a sudden gush of brilliance. Shadows danced over the merchant's
face, accentuating its likeness to a skull. He looked down at his jeweled hands and then at his guest.
"You are shrewd for a mercenary and shrewder than many merchants I could name. But understand this
great fortune comes not only in gold and things of shining value. And there are bargains to be kept no matter what
the inconvenience. More I will not tell you. But there is a place I must reach and a rendezvous I must keep. Against
the risk of your life I offer you gold for the rest of your days. My hand on the bargain!"
Malkar reached out and folded his own strong fingers about the withered claw. "And the woman?"
"She goes with us. We leave at dawn."
Against the virgin snow the little party looked dark, untidy, their trail wending back to the south and west as
a monstrous snake had writhed in dying agony. Breath plumed from the nostrils .of horses as they plunged through
the hampering whiteness, vapored from the lips of the men as they rode in ragged formation beside and behind the
litters, the pack horses and spare mounts. All showed signs of numbing fatigue.
Malkar was no better. He was tired and cold and his bones ached from the sheer physical effort of having to
force his mount through the snow. He turned in the saddle as a man came riding toward him. Graniat captain of the
merchant's guard, a big, bristling man his beard clotted with ice, his eyes wicked beneath his spiked helm.
"By Jarl, why do you rest? The day draws to a close and we have yet to find a place to camp. Why do you
delay?"
"Patience," said Malkar. "The mounts are weary and the slope is steep."
"Whip and spur will take care of their fatigue."
"And mine?"
Graniat clenched his spiked gauntlet. "If needs be," he growled. "Men and beasts are much the same. Pain is a
sure cure for weakness."
Malkar shrugged. Both he and the guide had covered twice as much ground as the others but he saw no
reason to state the obvious. Graniat met the cold, gray eyes beneath the rim of the Phaddocian helmet and slowly
unclenched his fist.
"The way is hard," he grumbled. "The cold numbs my bones. Why cannot we camp here? There is wood and
shelter and it will serve."
"The slope is steep," said Malkar patiently. "The snow thick. If it should fall we'd be buried in an avalanche.
And the trees are too close. They could shelter wolves or brigands. Our camp must lie beyond the ridge."
Graniat hawked and spat, turning to where the covered litters swayed between laboring horses. "We should
have waited until spring," he grumbled. "Never have I seen a man in such haste. Demons must ride him as a man a
horse. Well, it cannot be helped, but may Jarl send that you find a camp soon."

Malkar watched as the captain rejoined his men then looked at the guide. He was a stunted creature huddled
in a mass of filthy furs, his flat, broad-nosed face shining with grease. He spoke seldom and then mostly in grunts.
Malkar's job, as agreed with the merchant, was to ride with him, to protect him if attacked and to kill him if he tried to
desert.
"All right," he said. "We've rested long enough. Let's get moving."
They rode for a long while in silence, the guide picking a tracking path up the slope, his companion alert for
possible danger. The wind blew more strongly as they neared the crest of the ridge, plucked at their clothing as they
reached level ground. Abruptly the guide halted.
"You," he grunted. "You not like others. You alone like me."
Hidden by his cloak Malkar's hand closed on the hilt of his dagger. "So?"
"We should work together. You, me, brothers. Agree?"
"Brothers," said Malkar. He looked back the way they had come. The crest hid the laboring column below.
"You have a plan?"
"The merchant is rich and must carry things of value. Gold, jewels, many things. And there is the woman. All
could be ours."
"True," said Malkar. "But there are too many against us. Even if we could steal the goods they are protected
by sorcery. Our only chance would be to kill everyone at the same time. To do that we need help."
The guide relaxed in his furs. "You good man. We work together. There could be way."
"When you find it," said Malkar, "let me know."
He kept to the rear as they moved on their way, not surprised at the suggestion which he had anticipated, but
guarding against a sudden change in the guide's intention. They reached the far side of the ridge and he stared down
in amazement. The rocky wall abruptly fell away to a lush greenness dotted with trees and bushes and thick with
succulent grass. The snow-line stopped as if marked with a knifeon one side a white hell, to the other a soft
paradise.
And, like most paradises, this was apparently unattainable.
Ileco Quand remained impassive as Malkar made his report. From the open curtains of his Utter warmth
oozed like a cloying liquid. At the feet of the merchant an open jar emitted a tropic heat. "Are you sure there is no
way down?"
"None." Malkar eased the collar of his cloak. "The ridge swings in a great bow to either side of the area.
Eventually it will descend but that could be a span of days in either direction. We could go back and try another route
or follow the crest. It is open ground and the wind is rising."
"The guide may have played us false," mused Ileco. "If so punishment can be delivered later."
A dagger in the back, a rope and tree, perhaps a slow fireguides who failed were not treated with mercy.
Malkar stamped his boots in the snow. "Your decision?"
"To detour would take time," said Ileco Quand. "We have no time. Perhaps there is something I can do." He
called to his servants. "Attend me. I ride to the crest." To Malkar he said, "Attend the Lady Lelenzia." To Graniat,
"Remain here. Let no man follow me if he values his life."
Leather rustled as the curtains swept together. The Utter rocked as the horses climbed upwards. Close in
attendance the dour servants of the merchant accompanied the little procession. Malkar turned to the burly captain of
the guard.
"What does he intend?"
Graniat rasped his spiked gauntlet over his bearded chin. "Something it would pay us not to see," he said
curtly. "I am no lover of sorcery. Cold steel and hot blood are enough for any man. To Sheol with those who deal with
demons!"
He turned away, blustering, shouting orders at his men. Malkar turned toward the other Utter. As he
approached the curtains parted emitting a flood of warmth similar to that enjoyed by the merchant. A hand, longfingered, gemmed, the nails covered with golden sheaths, beckoned.
"You have left me much alone of late," said Lelenzia. Her voice was soft, husky, almost purring as she stared
at him from over her veil. A tone entirely different from that she had used when ordering the flogging of the
Quendarian. "I had thought to beguile the lonely hours with instructive conversation."
"There has been much to do," said Malkar.
"Always there should be time for pleasure." Her hand caught his own, the sheaths of her nails pressing
against the tough hide of his gauntlet. The interior of the litter was filled with the cat-like odor of her strange perfume.
"You think I belong to the merchant?"

"You share his tent-at night."

She laughed from deep within her throat. "That old man! He guards me as if I were a thing of price which, to
him, I am. The key to what he desires most. Not gold or jewels but the thing which you possess. Youth and the
strength of body which all Women admire. Did he not explain?"
Malkar straightened from the litter. Graniat stood with his men in a huddle far to one side. On the crest of the
ridge the column of the merchant vanished even as he watched.
"He is an old man," said Lelenzia as Malkar thrust his head again into the litter. "The waters of his life run
low. There is a king who desires the aid he can givea king who also desires me." She stretched, cat-like on her nest
of furs. "In return he has promised the merchant that he will instruct his sorcerers to bargain with demons for the
renewal of his youth. The thing must be done before the time when the nights begin to shorten. Hence the reason for
speed." She yawned, breath fluttering the gossamer fabric of her veil. "Such weighty matters when we could dwell on
more enticing things. Have you traveled far?"
"Through many lands."
"Jejehan? Lankquanda? Zelsomisk? Bast? I come from Bast," she said, giving him no time to answer. "Have
you killed many men? Loved many women? Tell me about them."
"Later."
"Now!" She was a spoiled child demanding instant obedience. "I have been left alone too long. I will not
remain alone when there is no need. Remember that I am promised to a king. It would be well for you to obey me."
Malkar jerked his gauntlet from the golden claws, smiling to take the offense from the gesture, head tilted as
he looked toward the crest. "A signal," he said. "I am needed above."
Before she could protest he had mounted and was riding through the trees, taking a circular route to the
crest. Small against the skyline he saw the tent of the merchant. Something bright glowed within and grotesque
shadows moved against the silken fabric. One he recognized as belonging to the merchant. Another that of his
personal slave. The third?
He backed, feeling a cold chill, a mounting sense of unease. Surely nothing human could have cast such a
shadow?
A drum began to beat with a sharp, metallic sound. To one side the dark figures of Ileco's servants moved off
with the litter and horses. Malkar counted them. Add the slave within the tent and there was one shadow too many.
What black demon had the merchant summoned from worlds beyond?
His horse snorted, reared with sudden terror, fought with maniacal strength against his grip on the reins.
Almost thrown, Malkar had no choice but to give the beast its head. It turned with a flurry of snow and bolted back
down the slope. Crouching low Malkar felt the whip of branches along his back, their spiteful lash at his helmeted
skull. Trees blurred past and then the horse fell, wild-eyed, muzzle foaming with a white spume.
A flare of sudden brilliance lifted from the crest, a dazzling burst of splendor which shamed the dying sun and
burned with eye-bright fury. The ground moved as if it were a man turning in his sleep, a rolling vibration dying as
quickly as it had come. From somewhere to the right the sullen roar of an avalanche filled the air with muted thunder.
Graniat glared as Malkar finally rejoined the group, glad of a chance to rant and storm, venting his fear in
blustering anger. "Where have you been? By Jarl, if you were a man of mine I'd have you whipped for this!"
Malkar was curt. "I'm not, but that need not stop you from trying." He looked toward the crest. "What
happened?"
"Sorcery!" The captain spat "Ileco has cleared the way."
At the far side of the ridge Malkar paused, wondering at what he saw. From the edge of what had been a
sheer drop a wide and gentle ramp led down to the temptingly green area below. It was made of packed stone
shattered as if with giant hammers and packed tight and smooth. Halfway down the litter of the merchant bobbed as
the horses picked their way.
That night they rested in comfort, sprawled on soft grass, sheltered by the rearing cliff from the savage wind.
Strips of dried meat hung on peeled wands over glowing fires. Someone had produced a skin of wine and the scent of
the mulled beverage rose above the odors of roasting meat. To one side, sheltered beneath a tree, the tent of the
merchant glowed with a soft luminescence. He had retired immediately on making camp, the woman sharing, as
always, its comfort and warmth.
Lying supine Malkar stared at the sky. The night was clear, moonless, the stars a blazing glitter of distant
gems. He turned as boots brushed the grass and saw the thick body of Graniat looming against the night. The captain
squatted, glowering.
"Speed," he grumbled. "It seems we are not to enjoy this pleasant glade. He wants us to start three hours

before dawn."
Malkar sat upright. "So soon?"
"I told him it was madness. The men and beasts are fatigued and could do with rest. There will be no moon
and who knows what demons may lurk to pounce from the darkness?" Graniat's fingers tugged at his beard. "He
wants to see you. Jarl give you the words to change his mind."
The merchant lay on a heap of furs, his skull-like face ghastly in the light which glowed from a lamp of
hammered gold. Fatigue had pressed back his eyes so that they glowed like dying embers at the bottom of a well. His
hand trembled as he gestured to Malkar to come close.
"We leave early," he whispered. "The captain told you?"
"He did, and asked me to change your mind."
"You think me unwise?"
Malkar glanced to the far side of the tent. On a heap of snowy furs the woman lay as if asleep. She rested
easily, her back curved, knees high, eyes closed above her veil.
"She rests in ensorcelled slumber," whispered the merchant. "A device to guard against her ceaseless prattle
and other things. You have not answered my question."
"The beasts can travel if they must," said Malkar. "The men also. But of yourself I am not so sure."
"I look fatigued?" Ileco's bloodless mouth twisted in a grim smile. "You have no need to tell me what I
already know. Certain spells can only be used at a high price. But the way had to be opened we have no time for
leisurely travel."
"A day," said Malkar slowly. "A span of days. What matter when we arrive?"
"There are things you have yet to learn," whispered the merchant. "Waiting for the girl delayed me too long
but enough of that. Stay close to the guide and see that he works quickly at his task. Remember we can afford
no delay."
He sank back on his furs, mouth gaping as he fought for breath. His slave came forward bearing an urn from
which rose aromatic odors. The man was a mute but his eyes spoke with anger as he held the urn so that Ileco could
breath the vapor. Quietly Malkar left the tent
Outside he paused and looked at the camp. Two men hand-wrestled beside the fire, veins knotted in their
temples, mouths open, free hands scrabbling the dirt. Another used a heated poniard to sear a pattern on his buckler.
A short man sat cross-legged sharpening his sword. Two others threw dice in a helmet. But there was no sound, not
even the stamp of hooves from where the tethered horses moved as they cropped the grass. Then Malkar stepped
forward out of the ensorcelled area surrounding the tent and grunts, the hiss of burning leather, the rattle of dice and
the dull thudding of hooves abruptly filled the air.
Crossing to the fire Malkar lifted a wand of meat from above the flames and bit into the flesh. He ate
fastidiously, keeping face and hands free of grease, chewing well before swallowing. Replacing the depleted wand he
looked curiously at the guard busy with the heated poniard. He was searing an intricate design into the studded
leather of his shield, bearded face intent as he worked. Smoke rose from where the hot steel bit into the tough hide,
and he coughed, tears streaming from his eyes.
Thrusting the poniard back into the glowing embers he met Malkar's eyes.
"A rune of great power," he explained. "It will give protection against the attacks of birds, night-spirits,
demons, deluding ghosts and harmful spells. And the time is fortuitous for its inscription. No moon, the hour of the
lynx, in a place obviously blessed by the gods. If you wish to copy it the fee would be small."
"Thank you," said Malkar. "But no. I have my own defenses."
"Can a man have too many?" The guard reached out, looked at the poniard, thrust it back into the fire. "Who
knows what manner of creature may lurk in this land? Djinn, spirits, ghouls and vampires. Lost souls hungry for living
flesh. Brigands armed with weapons of magic. On such a journey as this a man needs more than his sword."
"Who says so?" Graniat came stalking from the shadows, a mug of steaming wine enclosed in one big hand.
He had doffed cloak and helmet and his reddish hair thrust in a bristle of spikes over his skull. Muscle bulged beneath
the linked rings of his hauberk. "Sorcery," he gritted angrily. "It turns the blood of men into water and fills their guts
with fear. The best magic is a sharpened edge, the best protection a plate of steel."
He drank and spat into the fire. "Sorcery," he said again. "A diabolical art for fools and weaklings."
"Yet without it," reminded Malkar softly, "we should still be on the crest and freezing in the wind."
"Rather that than own a debt to demons," roared, the captain. "A double-score of men would have had to
labor for a span of years to build such a ramp yet a spell summoned a demon to do it in the flash of an eye. But at
what price? You have seen the merchant. What manner of creature sucked the life from his body? And," he added
pointedly, "will the thing be content with what it has taken?"
Malkar tensed, conscious of watching eyes and ears pricked to catch what was being said. "Be silent," he told

the captain. "You talk too much."

Graniat bridled. "You tell me to shut my mouth?"
"You put it crudely," said Malkar. "But you take my meaning. Talk of ghosts and demons is for women, not a
leader of men. Talk of other things or do not talk at all."
"By Jarl," said the captain thickly. "I think it time that you and I had an understanding. A cock that crows too
loud must be clipped of its comb."
"You challenge me?"
"Aye! With axe, sword, dagger or spear. With bare hands or spiked gauntlets." The fire hissed as the captain
flung aside his wine. "Choose," he said, and snarled like a beast. "This night we determine who is the better man."
Malkar glanced down to where the inscriber of runes had left his poniard in the fire. He stooped and picked it
up. The blade shone dusty red in the firelight, tiny sparks glowing like stars on the searing metal.
"You are a big man," he said evenly to the captain. "No man questions your courage. Will you do what I do?
Will you admit defeat if you refuse?"
Graniat bared his teeth. "As long as we decide what matter how?"
"Watch," said Malkar.
Deliberately he placed the hot steel against his tongue.
There was a sharp hiss followed by the sudden inhalation of the watching men. Silently Malkar extended the
weapon toward the captain.
A muscle jumped high on Graniat's cheek. "You want me to do that!"
"You agreed!" shouted a man from among those who watched. "By Jarl, if you refuse, you're no leader of
mine!"
"Aye," said another. "You gave Malkar the choice. Does his courage top yours?"
Beads of sweat shone on the captain's face as he took the poniard. His hand trembled as he lifted it toward
his mouth. Against a normal opponent he would have fought until hacked to pieces but deliberately to sear his tongue
with red hot metal was something he could not do. Yet, unless he did, he would forfeit the respect of his men.
Malkar watched the contorted face. Abruptly he stepped forward, his voice low. "Wet your tongue," he said
urgently. "Coat it with spit. Lift it until it barely touches the blade and lower it at once. I swear that you will come to
no harm."
Graniat hesitated.
"Quickly! Before the men think you a coward."
"Jarl help me," breathed the captain. And obeyed.
Grass rustled and Malkar turned, dagger in hand. The captain, helmed, cloaked, loomed huge in the
shadowed darkness. "Put away your blade. You have naught to fear from me."
"I am glad of that. Have you been checking the watch?"
"Aye. And you? Why are you not asleep?"
"I have slept." Malkar glanced at the stars. "At least three hours. It is enough."
"Or perhaps you cannot rest easy in this ensorcelled place?" Graniat moved his shoulders beneath his cloak.
"I too am uneasy. What is a place like this doing among snow and ice? Well, no matter, long before dawn we shall be
goneif the merchant is still alive."
"He will be," said Malkar. "Ileco is old but tough."
"Maybe." Graniat mused for a while and then said, abruptly, "Words of thanks come not easy to my lips. Yet
know that I am grateful for the manner in which you acted." His eyes gleamed from the frame of his helm. "A trick?"
"One learned from the thieves of Calmundis. There they have a simple way of determining a man's innocence
or guilt Red hot metal is placed against the tongue. An innocent man, because he has nothing to fear, will have a wet
mouth and so the steel will hiss and leave him unharmed. The mouths of the guilty are dry with fear and those the
iron burns."
"And the thieves, knowing this, make sure they have a mouthful of spit." Graniat chuckled. "A useful thing to
know if ever I am in Calmundis. Now, until the hour of the pig, I shall sleep. And, comrade, once again my thanks."
Malkar prowled the camp like a disconsolate ghost. He felt restless, filled with a vague disquiet, halting for
long periods as his eyes probed the darkness. The hour of the dog passed, yielded to that of the lion, edged into that
of the snake. The wind had completely died, the brooding silence broken only by the heavy breathing of sleeping
men, the occasional movement of a horse. Once he thought he saw something long and white glide between the trees
toward the tent but, when he searched, could find nothing.
Walking, he pondered the strange place where they had camped.

Strange but not mysterious. A subsidence of the ground probably caused by some subterranean activity
volcanic in origin. Underground heat would explain the absence of snow and the tropical lushness of the vegetation.
But it was odd that the night was so quiet. There should have been a host of little sounds, the calling of nocturnal
birds, the stridulation of insects.
Malkar ran toward the fire. Sparks scattered as his boot raked the embers, the coals burning with a dull blue
luminescence. He flung a handful of dry twigs on the fire and blew them into life. The flames rose, reluctantly, edged
with blue. In the growing light he ran to where the nearest man lay sleeping.
"Up!" He slapped the flaccid cheek. "Wake up! Rise!"
The man groaned, working his mouth. Malkar snatched up an urn of water and dashed it into the empty
features. Reaching down he dug his fingers into tender flesh. The man ' woke, screaming like an injured horse.
"Sound the alarm! Wake the others! Quickly!"
Malkar ran to another sleeping figure, woke him, ran to a third. Graniat's bull-roar echoed across the camp
and the captain, red-eyed, came lurching to where Malkar dragged another man from sleep.
"Jarl! My head! What's the matter? Are we attacked?"
"Get the men on their feet. Wake them all. Get them mounted and riding away from here. At once! Move!"
"Run?" Graniat's sword whined from its scabbard. "Where is the enemy?"
"Here. All around you. Something you cannot kill." "Ghosts?"
"Vapor!" Malkar stared about the camp. Men were on their feet, some helping others, all staggering as if
bemused. Beside the fire a guard retched, shuddering, his face purple in the blue-limned glow. "There are no insects.
Nothing on which birds can feed and so there are no birds. I have seen the like before in a place where boiling water
gushes from the earth. Magicians claim that in such places an invisible mist clings to the soil and kills all living
creatures. There is no wind. Here the vapor must be thick. A man sleeping on the ground would quickly die."
"Sorcery!" snarled the captain. He slammed his blade back into its sheath. "I knew this place was tainted by
demons. But you? How did you escape?"
"I remained upright and moving. Now break camp while I inform the merchant."
The mute gobbled as Malkar tore open the flap of the tent. On his nested furs the old man stirred, rose, eyes
dull in the skull-contours of his face. On one lifted hand a gem winked in protective malevolence. It faded as Malkar
gave his warning.
Thoughtfully Ileco plucked at the neck of his robe. "You have done well. It would seem the gods sent your
path to cross minefew would have had the wit to recognize the danger. We must leave, you say?"
"At once."
"What is the hour?"
Malkar frowned. "That of the snake has barely commenced. Why do you ask?"
"Every circumstance holds an advantage," said the merchant calmly. "It lacks four hours to dawn, the men
are eager to move and there is no talk of delay." His bloodless mouth twisted in a smile. "An hour saved. That much
closer to our journey's end. Now leave me while I wake the girl."
Dawn found them at the edge of a rolling tundra, a bleak place of coarse grass and scanty shrub, the ground
pocked with the marks of giant pads and speckled with the droppings of unknown creatures. They rode haunted by a
nameless dread, eating in the saddle, gnawing at scraps of meat and iron-hard bread. As darkness fell they built a fire
of scrub and dung and, by its light, Graniat flogged the men who had been on watch the previous night.
Malkar heard the lash of stirrup leathers, the gasps of pain, but kept his eyes on the smoldering fire. Beside
him the guide sucked in his breath.
"Bad," he muttered. "If I make a mistake they would do that to me. You would let them?"
"No," said Malkar. "We are brothers." He wondered if the man was as simple as he appeared. "But they are
many," he reminded. "It would be best to make no mistakes."
"You are wise. We work together."
"Yes, but you must tell me what is to happen; If I do not know I cannot help. You will tell me?"
The guide wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Time not yet. Place not here. Tell later."
He rose and melted into the darkness, a hunched bundle of mangy fur rank with the stench of rancid grease.
Graniat came to drop heavily at his side.
"Well, it's done. Three men flogged until their senses fled."
"Three? I thought four had stood watch."
"One has vanished. Where to only the gods can tell. This is no place for a man to desert and I doubt he
would if he could. Bhalate was a good man." Graniat shrugged. "Mayhap he was snatched by a wandering beast. I

doubt not that more will follow before this journey is done."
The tundra rolled endlessly, day after day, a thin crescent showing in the night sky, growing to form a
gibbous moon. They hit a river scummed with ice, lined with brittle reeds, the banks scored with giant wallows. A
flock of geese rose, honking, and a shower of arrows caught several on the wing. Men cursed as they fell into the
water to be gulped by unseen jaws. A day later they reached a bridge built of massive timbers stained and splotched
with lichens. The guide fell to his knees, praying.
All men respected the gods. Malkar spoke to the merchant as they waited for the man to finish.
"We lost another man last night. That makes four since we left the snows. Since sorcery was used to built the
ramp."
"So?"
"The men grow restive. It would be as well if this journey were to end quickly."
"Their desire for haste can be no greater than my own," wheezed Ileco. His face was ghastly in the shadowed
confines of his litter. The hardship of the journey was sapping the remnants of his life. He glanced to where the guide
knelt before the bridge. "Even this delay is irksome but it must be tolerated." Softly he added, "Has he yet conspired
with you to rob me of my goods?"
"You know?"
"It is obvious. Why else did I set you to guard him? When and where is the attack to take place?"
"That I have yet to learn." Malkar thrust his head deeper into the warmth of the litter. "I do not think he
wholly trusts meand with reason. Could you not use sorcery to scan what is to come?"
Ileco shook his head. "I am no sorcerer. Some spells I have purchased and items of magic but that is all. You
must watch him, learn his plan, be prepared to thwart his intention." His voice fell into a drifting murmur. "But do not
kill him yet. He is needed to guide us through the hills."
They reared beyond the river, a tormented mass of seamed and scarred rock, channeled with crevasses and
canyons, spired and turreted like the landscape of nightmare. They rose from the tormented hills and reached a
plateau scored with crevasses but relatively open. The wind filled Malkar's nostrils with the animal-stench of the
guide but he kept his face impassive, moving only to put the man to leeward.
"How far to Sheldar?"
The guide shrugged. "Where's that?"
"You don't know?" Malkar was thoughtful. "Where are you taking us?"
"Novotyre. Soon now."
"How soon? A span of days? Less?"
"Soon."
Malkar frowned. Ileco had been clever in keeping their destination a secret. He tried another means of
reaching the truth. "We are brothers. We share all things. How do we get to where we are going? Over this plateau
and then what?"
"Rough ground. A valley, very bad, then over small plain to city." The guide leaned back in his saddle and
searched the sky. Malkar followed his example. The rear of the Phaddocian helmet ground into the upper muscles of
his back, limiting the movement of his head. He doffed the helmet and tried again, the wind chill as it blew through
the long strands of his hair.
High above, almost invisible against the hard blueness of the sky, tiny shapes wheeled, circling, wings
pointed and curved.
Malkar donned his helmet. Vultures, perhaps, or some other denizens of the air.
At noon he slowed, allowing the column to catch up, chewing a scrap of leathery meat. The guide waited far
to one side eating food of his own which he carried in a bag tied to his saddle. Graniat dropped his voice.
"Is everything all right?"
Malkar caught the unspoken question. "You know?"
"The merchant warned me to expect trouble from the guide." The captain sucked at his bearded lips. "If I had
my way I'd kill him now. I don't like this playing of tricks. Why let him live when he's planning treachery?"
"Alone he can do no harm," said Malkar. "But if he has friends waiting in ambush I want to know just where
they are and when they'll attack. I'm hoping he will give me that information."
Graniat's scowl deepened. "I don't like it: I'm not a man for intrigues. A slow fire and a knotted cord about his
temples would make him talk. Why do we not halt and persuade him to tell us what he knows?"
"Because if we tried it he would swallow his tongue and die of his own will. My way we stand a chance of
learning something. Your way we can only fail."
"Perhaps, but I have known stubborn men to talk in the past and there are ways of keeping a man alive."
Graniat tightened his hand on the hilt of his great sword. "I like not to trust such an animal. Look at the way he eats!

Slobbering at his filth, waving it at the sky as if offering it to the gods. Jarl! I'll be glad to send his soul shrieking to
hell!"
Malkar stared again at the sky. He saw nothing but the wheeling shapes of birds. The same ones as before,
perhaps? It was impossible to be certain. He looked thoughtfully at the guide. Could the man's elaborate ritual with
his food be some kind of a signal? If so the coming attack must be near.
"Warn the men," he told Graniat. "Keep swords loose in their scabbards and let them be ready to act when it
is time."
"Aye," said the captain. "That I will. And when it comes the guide is mine. Remember that."
Malkar shrugged and touched his heels to the sides of his mount.
In the distance twin peaks were rounded shapes of smooth perfection, topped with a crest of snow which
shone pink in the dying light, tipped with nipple-like cairns. They grew as the column approached, looming high to
either side of the trail, their bulk muffling and distorting the clink of hooves and jingle of accouterments. In their
shadow the cavalcade hunched close, armed men thick around the litters, Malkar and the guide a short way in the
van. He rode tense in the saddle. Here, if anywhere, the trap would be sprung.
Skin crawling he looked at the hills. The rock was pitted seen close at hand, riddled with caverns in which
lurking men could hide. Even now they could be the target for drawn bows, iron-tipped arrows waiting to drink their
blood. He looked higher. The sky was clear aside from the wheeling shapes of birds. As he watched several of them
began to drop, growing larger as they fell. From somewhere a whistle cut the air.
"Now!" grunted the guide. "We run!"
Graniat was ready. As the guide's mount sprang forward a bowstring thrummed its savage note. The animal
toppled, coughing, an arrow transfixing its lungs. The guide rolled, sprang to his feet, cowered as the captain charged
forward, his sword a glittering arc of steel. The blade licked at the point where the head joined the body. There was a
dull, squashy sound and a fountain of blood jetted from the trunk. Rolling on the ground the severed head looked at
Malkar with accusing eyes.
The air grew dark with wings.
They came from above, from either side, thundering from behind the shelter of the peaks, great birds each as
large as a horse with long flexible necks viciously beaked. Clawed feet scrabbled at the ground as they landed. Riding
on each bird, mounted in saddles fastened to the bloated bodies, pygmy raiders snarled their hate. They carried short
swords and light crossbows and, suddenly, the air was singing with flying death.
Malkar whipped out his sword, hearing the captain's shout of alarm, spurring his mount to where the big man
slashed furiously at a winged opponent. He felt the beast convulse, rearing, screaming with pain and terror, then he
was falling, landing as the animal tore past, an arrow in its throat, another in an eye.
Rising he stared at a beaked head, the contorted face of a black pygmy, the glinting tip of an aimed quarrel.
Metal clashed protectively before his face as he tensed the muscles of his scalp, the visor dropping from slots
in the Phaddocian helmet. The quarrel struck, its point slamming into an eye-slit. Malkar tore it free, leaping to one
side, his sword whining down in a vicious slash which severed the beaked head, circling in a backhanded cut at the
rider. Steel met flesh, dragged, continued as the grimacing figure toppled from its seat.
Turning he cut again, muscles bunching in arm and shoulder. Feathers exploded from the threshing wings of
a dying bird. He ran to where Graniat fought to control his horse, arriving just as the mount threw its rider. A bird
thrust out its long neck and stabbed its beak at the helpless man. Malkar sliced through the neck and watched as the
bird, blood hosing, took to the air in dying reflex, its rider wailing piteously as both toppled into a gorge.
An arrow rang against his helmet, another tugged at his cloak, a wing like a sail slammed against his back
with bruising impact. Malkar snatched out his dagger, grunted as the wing struck again, chopped at the point where it
joined the body. Leaning forward he stabbed at the rider. The point tore at the snarling face, slipped on the
cheekbone and gouged into an eye.
"Back!" yelled Graniat. "Back!"
His sword was a wheel of light as he slashed the head from the bird, continued the stroke in an upward cut at
the belly of another. An arrow tore his cheek and stained his beard with a sudden gush of blood. A pygmy screamed
as his arm fell from his body, screamed again as Malkar's steel found his heart.
He slipped as his foot trod on a pool of blood. He rolled, chopping at scaled legs, driving his dagger in ripping
cuts at feathered bellies. He heard Graniat's roar, a shrill screaming, a sudden thunder of wings. Abruptly the
immediate area was clear. He rose and met the captain's eyes.
"By Jarl, what manner of fiends are these?" Graniat shook the blood from his sword. "Demons mounted on
giant birds. Never did I think to see the like."

Malkar turned, looked around. The ground was thick with feathers, blood, dead and dying birds. The air held
a thick, musty odor. From the bodies of their dead hosts lice as large as grapes fell to the stone.
A black figure twitched then fell limp as Malkar's sword found its throat
"Quick!" roared Graniat. "Back to back!"
Their shoulders met as fresh attackers dropped from the sky. The world turned into a red haze of blood and
death and screaming noise. A beak smashed against Malkar's shoulder, reared back for a second blow, fell as the
curved sword slashed it from the snake-like neck. A clawed foot lifted, kicked forward, the talons ripping at his
brigandine, driving the breath from his body. He doubled, fighting the darkness edging his vision, turning to avoid a
second attack, his sword slicing at yellow scales. Two curved toes fell to the ground. He heard Graniat's yell of pain
as an arrow found his eye. It was spent, barely managing to penetrate the ball, but it did its work.
Blinded, mad with pain, the captain screamed in berserker fury.
"Death!" he shrieked. "Death to all black fiends of hell!"
Malkar felt the sudden lightness at his back as Graniat raced forward, sword a wheeling arc of razor-edged
steel, feathers, guts, lopped heads and twisted bundles of dying blackness falling before his attack. Conscious of his
own danger Malkar looked around. The captain's insane fury had given him a respite. Gulping air into his lungs he ran
to where the rest of the guards stood clustered around the litters.
Too many had died. They lay sprawled on the ground among the bodies of slaughtered horses, bodies of men
and beasts bristling with arrows. Those that were left snarled at the sky, sword and buckler in hand, arrows spent and
bows useless. Ringing them, replenished constantly from the air, the pygmies fired a rain of quarrels as they urged
their winged mounts into the fray.
Malkar sheathed his dagger, snatched up a discarded buckler, fastened it to his arm as he thrust his head into
the merchant's litter. Ileco stared at him with glassy eyes, blood staining his furred robe, feathers protruding from his
wizened throat.
Lelenzia gasped as she saw his visored face, the metal stained and smeared with blood. "Malkar?"
"The same. Ileco is dead. If you have powers of sorcery use them now or all is lost."
He turned from the litter, throwing up the buckler and feeling the impact as an arrow thudded into the leather
and the backing wood beneath. Beside him a guard shrieked as a clawed foot ripped away his intestines. Another
coughed and fell vomiting blood, fingers snatching at the shaft in his throat.
Again the world became a red blur of ceaseless effort. Foul odors stung his nostrils and the thunder of wings
rose above the screams of the dying. The universe shrank to a vision through the eye-slits of his visor, the face of the
enemy, the victory of blood as his sword cut home.
"Malkar!" Wings beat directly from above as he heard the girl's warning. "Malkar!"
A bird hovered over his head, talons flexed to seize him in their grasp. Throwing aside the shield, he turned,
snatched up the girl, threw her over his left shoulder and sprang upwards, left hand gripping a scaled leg, the sword in
his right lancing up to prick at the feathered belly.
Squawking, the creature threshed the air with its wings, struggling higher so as to avoid the pain. Malkar
pricked it deeper, urging it higher, glancing down as they rose. Below the fight was almost over. Even as he watched
the last of the guards fell, the litters rocking as a horde of pygmies dismounted and began their search for loot.
The ground began to rise and Malkar stabbed upwards again, viciously, twisting the point of his blade. Wings
thundered with failing energy as they carried both him and the girl down the trail. Above the rider chittered with
helpless rage, unable to bring his crossbow to bear, his sword too short to reach the unwanted passengers.
Malkar thrust upwards again as the wings faltered, knowing the extra weight was too great for the bird to
carry far. He landed, rock slapping hard against the soles of his boots, dropping the girl and turning as the bird
touched the ground. His sword licked out twice and the heads of bird and rider rolled on the stone. Breathing deeply
he raised the visor of the Phaddocian helmet and stared back the way they had come. The trail curved, shadowed by
the twin peaks, writhing back to the plateau and the distant hills. The skies were clear of winged enemiesall had
hastened to share the plunder.
An eye-searing blast abruptly filled the world.
It rose from beyond the curve of the trail, rising from where the litters would be, a gush of livid flame,
spreading, wreathed by a pall of drifting smoke. The smoke altered, grew shape and form, became the snarling visage
of a thing from nightmare.
Eyes without pupils looked from a face lined with malevolence. Fangs thrust from between the lips of a
scaled mouth. Pointed horns rose from a snake-infested head. More smoke, shaped like reaching hands, grew and
reached toward him.
Picking up the girl, Malkar turned and ran down the trail.
Lelenzia said, "If you are quite sure now that I am a woman, how about putting me down?"

"Gladly." Malkar stooped, set the girl on her feet and straightened. Beneath her robe she was pleasingly
rounded but her weight had not been light and he was glad to ease his back and shoulders. Curiously he looked at the
veiled face. "You are not afraid?"
"Not now." Her eyes, wide in the thickening shadows, shone at him from above the veil. "I was when those
horrible birds attacked and later, when you rescued me, but not now." Her voice deepened to a caressing purr. "Not
with you as my protector."
"And Ileco?"
"He is dead." Her shrug wrote off the merchant as if he had never existed. "I owed him nothing, to him I was
an article of trade, a thing to use in his bargaining. Not even his sorcery could save him."
"But it avenged him," said Malkar. "One of the bundles must have held a trapped demon. All died when it was
released."
"A quick end," she said casually. "And now?"
"We walk. And we had better hasten before night catches us in this place. The valley cannot be far."
It was late when they reached it and already it was full of mist. It rose, coiling, swirling as if with a monstrous
life of its own, taking odd and grotesque shapes, dim and mysterious. It rose about them as they descended the rocky
slope, lifting above their shoulders and closing over their heads. Vision fell to a matter of feet, boulders and stunted
bushes looming through the fog, vanishing as they left them behind.
Somewhere ahead a thing breathed in rasping pain. Sword in hand Malkar trod softly toward it. A shape
resting against a boulder turned and looked at him as he lowered the blade.
"Graniat! I thought you dead!"
"Jarl would have been kinder if I were." The captain stared at Malkar from his one good eye. Blood stained
his cheek and beard, rested in thick smears on the collar of his cloak, traced paths down the side of his neck. He had
removed the arrow but the injured eye was ruined. "What of the battle?"
"All dead. Only the girl and I survived. Lelenzia, give me something with which to bandage this wound."
He heard the rip of fabric as he stooped over the captain. Graniat drew in his breath with a hiss as Malkar
examined the injury. "Jarl, but it hurts! A sword through the guts would pain me less."
"Maybe, but such a wound would kill you, this, will not." Malkar bound the strip of fabric the girl handed to
him over the injury, then slapped the big man on the shoulder. "It is not so bad. One eye will serve as well as two. At
least you can walk."
"To where? What point in continuing now? The merchant is dead." Graniat scowled at his bloodstained
gauntlets. "I failed him. I was crazed with pain and ran amokbut I ran in the wrong direction. My place was with my
men."
"Thank the gods who guided your feet," said Malkar. "They saved your life."
"And my honor?"
"What use is that when-you are dead? You are alive and should be thankful. Come now, let us be on our
way."
Sword in hand Malkar took the lead, the girl at his heels, Graniat bringing up the rear. It grew darker and a
dull sound began to echo through the mist, a steady, repetitious beat as of a monstrous heart. From somewhere came
a tinkle of water and they found a stream, slaking their thirst before continuing on their way.
Malkar brushed a strand of something from his face. Another replaced it. The girl squealed as something
caught in her hair. Graniat swore as he peered at what it was.
"A web! What manner of creature could have spun this?"
Tensely they edged past the strands, following a barely seen path running between tormented vegetation.
The path opened into a small clearing, the mist swirling, falling away to reveal a glitter of shining droplets. Something
huge and black moved at the edge of vision. Bones crunched beneath their feet with brittle, snapping sounds. A
scurry of tiny creatures suddenly raced across the path, swarming over their boots, vanishing as quickly as they had
appeared.
Graniat drew in his breath with a sobbing inhalation. "Jarl help us this night! Malkar, I like this not. Would it
not be wise to"
His voice broke, ended as if cut with a knife. Malkar turned, eyes probing the shadows behind the girl.
"Graniat!"
He heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart, the whimpering of the girl, the terrible beating from
within the mist.
"Graniat! Answer me!"
"Malkar!" Lelenzia caught at his arm. Her eyes were enormous above her veil. "I'm frightened. What is
happening?"

Slipping an arm around her slim waist he stepped cautiously back the way they had come. Three steps and
he stood where the captain had vanished. He circled, the muscles taut in his arm and shoulders. Dropping to his
knees he searched the rocky ground. Nothing.
"Graniat!"
Something fell to one side, rolled, came to rest. A rounded thing with a gaping hole to one side. Malkar
reached it, touched it with his boot The spiked helmet rolled again, empty of its head.
A sword whispered from the mist and stuck quivering in the stony soil.
A gauntlet fell beside the sword, the spiked knuckles stained with long-dried blood.
A bone joined the rest, freshly gnawed, still warm with animal heat.
Lelenzia shrieked, tore herself free of his arm and raced down the uneven path.
Malkar caught her before she had covered a hundred paces, holding her tight, feeling the jerk and quiver of
her flesh beneath the gemmed robe.
"It's all right," he soothed. "You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you."
"And Graniat?"
"Dead. Caught by some foul creature lurking above. But the danger is past."
"But there could be others." She looked up into his face, eyes huge against the pallor of her skin. "And it is
growing darker. You cannot see and could stumble into a snare at any moment."
It was true enough. The mist diffused the moonlight and hid the stars, forming an eye-baffling fog. To camp
was to invite attack and to press on was to tempt fate. Not sword or dagger or brigandine of tested mail could guard
his flesh from invisible enemies striking at will. Nor would they guide his feet over the treacherous ground.
"Malkar!" Lelenzia snuggled against him, her voice thin, almost a mew. "I have some small powers. Promise
to carry me and I will lead you from this haunt of demons."
"How?"
"That is my business. Do as I say and fear not if you should see a familiar beast. Follow it and all will be well.
But you must carry me. You promise?"
Her weight was hard against his shoulder, the long lines of her legs caught in the curve of his left arm. He felt
the deep inhalations of her breathing, the sigh as she emptied her lungs. And then, suddenly, the load against his flesh
had lightened as if half the weight had left the curvaceous body.
From behind a snow-leopard stepped on dainty feet, turning to look at Malkar with luminous eyes, tail
twitching before it moved down the path. He followed it, seeing the whitely shining fur clear against the coiling mist,
the lithe body halt at times, a paw testing the ground, the whiskered muzzle sniffing the air.
"Lelenzia!" he called softly.
The snow-leopard paused, looked back with a twitch of its ears, showed white fangs from its opened jaws.
"Lelenzia," he called again, sure now that the beast and the woman were one and the same. "Move not so
quickly; I have two feet, not four, and my burden is precious."
The animal came to him, rubbed its sleek hide against his leg, purred with a deep satisfaction.
"Very precious," he said again. "And very beautiful. As beautiful as you but in a different way."
The purr deepened, the sleek head rubbed again hard against his thighs, golden claws showing from beneath
the soft pads as the feline creature responded to his flattery.
"Lead on," he said, "but take care. I would not have you come to harm."
The night grew solid with darkness as he followed the strange guide. Twice he bumped into the still shape,
the snow-leopard snarling with momentary irritation, hugging the ground while something big and unseen slobbered
and moved from the path. Once he caught the proffered tail and stepped cautiously beside a foul pit from which came
bubblings and noisome odors and three times he had to use his sword to cut the creature free from rubbery tendrils
which fell from above to the accompaniment of thin chitterings.
And then, as the first light of early dawn began to gild the eastern sky, the sides of the valley fell to either side
and a thin wind heavy with the scents of the sea tore the mist to swirling tatters.
Staggering with fatigue Malkar set down his soft burden. From a short distance the snow-leopard watched
him with luminous eyes, belly close to the ground, tail lashing, ears pricked with impatience.
Softly he called to it. "All right, my beauty. Now you may return."
Turning he looked away from the girl. He heard her sigh, the fabric of her robe rustling against the soil, the
warmth of her presence and the softness of her arms as she closed them about him from the rear. He lifted his hands,
broke her grip, spun so as to look at the veiled features.
"From Bast," he said quietly. "A land which holds,the feline in high regard. Did Ileco Quand know that you

are a were-leopardess?"
"Why else do you think he brought me from my master?" Above the veil her eyes Were mocking; "The king
he sought to please has strange fancies and a peculiar delight in the acquisition of unusual things. But now the
merchant is dead and I am free to do as I will."
Gently he reached out and removed the veil. Her face was alabaster in its whiteness, the nose small, the
mouth generous. She smiled and through her parted lips he could see the incredible whiteness of her teeth. A fuzz of
white bloom, barely discernible, softened the roundness of her jaw. Lifting back the lustrous mane of her hair he saw
her ears, without lobes, the tips gently pointed. The golden sheaths of her nails dug into his arms.
"My lord is pleased at what he sees?"
"Most pleased."
"And?"
She was all feline, all cat with that animal's grace and litheness but also with its selfish regard and amoral
nature. She would turn to any who could provide food and comfort, leaving them for others who would provide more.
A toy for a wealthy king, a titivation to a jaded nature, but she was beautiful.
And she had saved his life.
"The city waits," he said. "We need rest and food and shelter. And I think it best that you seek out the king to
whom you were promised. The life I lead is not one you would enjoy."
"True," she admitted. "But I have gems and the city is renowned for its pleasures." She stepped closer, soft,
alluring. "I will seek the king if later I so choose. But, my lord, is there any need of haste?"
"No," he said, and kissed her. "None at all."