"Blazes!" he gasped with his palms clasped to his diaphragm. "Blazes! Well, by the time it comes, I won't be around to get in the way, will I?"
"There's still danger," Calvus said. "One of the Guardians remains."
The agent shrugged. "It going to have any hardware beyond what the other ones did?" he asked. He had resumed his task of stripping Gaius of his armor.
"It won't use area weapons that would threaten the brood it guards," said the woman cautiously. "But Aulus, the - thunderbolts - can kill despite your armor."
Perennius blew a rude sound between dry lips. "I could
be run down by a hay cart, too," he said. "And it'd serve me right if I let something like that happen."
Perennius rose to draw off the mail shirt by the sleeves. The right sleeve showed great gaps burned in the rings by the energy channeled up the out-thrust sword. The leather insulation beneath was seared, but the vaporizing iron had protected Gaius even as it burned away. "Sure," the agent said. He was puffing a little with exertion magnified by his heavy garb. "You just keep back where you won't get hurt. In a few minutes, this'll all be over and we can both start thinking about the future."
Perennius did not notice the expression that flashed across Calvus' face as she listened to him.
The first thing Perennius used his short sword on that day was a sapling from a clump of dogwoods. The blade hacked through the base of the soft trunk and pruned the lesser limbs away with single blows. There were three larger branches splaying up to form the crown, bright with shiny leaves. The agent set each branch separately on the stump. Using the stump as a chopping block, he lopped off those upper limbs a foot above their common fork. When that task was completed, Perennius had a straight, sap-globbed pole eight feet long from its base to its triple peak.
The agent wiped his sword. That only smeared the sap further over the blade's dull sheen. He swore without heat. Too much of Perennius' being was concentrated on greater problems for him really to care about a glitch which did not impair function. "Lucia," he said, "if it's not down there - the, the Guardian - it's going to be up here. Best if you - " and he looked away as he choked back the words that wanted to come, "stayed with Gaius and Bella"; but that would endanger the mission - "got back over the rim where there's some room to move. Safe enough with the dragon gone." Perennius paused. "You're cold meat for those thunderbolts, and the armor we got wouldn't fit you well enough to help."
"It'll be down there," Calvus said, "somewhere. They're raised - engineered, Aulus - never to leave the brood without an adult until the hatching. There's only one left. That's where it will be."
"That's not the best way to protect what they've got," the agent said as he draped the extra suit of mail over the forked end of his pole. "I don't like counting on the other guy to be stupid. It's a good way to get your butt reamed."
Calvus lifted her chin in disagreement. "It isn't a matter of choice," she said, "any more than it was your choice that your right hand be dominant."
"I can do a pretty fair job with my left, too," the agent said, accepting the metaphor as a judgment.
"All right, than it's choice that you don't see with your ears!" the woman snapped. She paused as she heard herself. An expression of beatific wonder spread across her face. "Aulus," she said, "I shouldn't have been able to do that. To become angry."
"Everybody gets mad," Perennius said. This time the misinterpretation was deliberate. The agent was begging the implied question of the tall woman's humanity, because he cared enough about the answer that he was not willing to hear the wrong one. Not about a friend. Blazes, he did have friends, now. "Well, we'll assume you're right till we learn different," Perennius went on. He thumbed toward the rim of the gorge. "I still want you the hell out of the way."
Calvus smiled. "You'll need light when you get into the cave."
"Listen, you wander around holding a light and you're dead," the agent said. His anger did not flare as it normally would have, because he knew the traveller was not stupid - nor even naïve enough to be saying what he seemed to have heard. "He'll just shoot past me, won't he?"
Calvus made a globe of her hands. There was a glimmering through the chinks. The flesh of her fingers themselves became translucent. She opened her hands and a glowing ball swelled out of the hollow to spin away from the woman at a walking pace. The ball continued to expand as it rolled through the air toward the far wall of the chasm. Its smooth outlines were still visible in the daylight as it blurred into the rock a quarter mile away.
Calvus quivered and came out of her trance. "A little effort involved in that," she said, slowly turning her palms to Perennius. The skin was unmarked by the cold light, as his conscious mind had known it would be. His subconscious still could not accept the fact. "But practical at a safe distance. And you'll need the light, my - Aulus."
Perennius noted the hesitation. Sliding his own sword home in its scabbard, he said, "You were going to say weapon ?
"I was going to say 'friend,' " Calvus replied.
"Well, let's go kill things," the agent said. The last word was muffled by the bronze mask. He closed it over his face and waited for Calvus to lace it shut.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Donning the face shield again was itself like entering the passageway to Hell. Perennius paced down the trail steadily, but with the caution required by the drop-off to the side. He could see very little of his surroundings in general and nothing at all of his feet. The mask eliminated normal downward vision. The way it locked to protect his throat kept him from bending his neck sharply enough to repair the deficiency. The abandon with which the agent had flung himself into the chasm initially had been required by the circumstances. It would have been out of place now. Winning in battle requires a willingness to die; but the combatant who seeks death is almost certain to find death without victory. Perennius was determined that when he got the chop, it would be because the other bastards were better - not because he himself played the fool.
Gaius' mail swayed before the agent like a banner slung from the dogwood staff. Unlike a normal banner, its shifting weight seriously interfered with balance. Every step became a doubled effort - first a motion, then a stiffening to damp the rustling iron. When the trail sloped eastward, Perennius held the shirt before him. When the trail switched back to the west, as it did twice before turning finally toward his goal, he slung the pole over his shoulder and allowed the armor to swing behind him. It was not a perfect shield, even against the first blast; but the extra armor was one more factor to concern the Guardian. From previous experience, the agent judged that the chitinous monsters did not react well to the unexpected. The fact of his own survival, however, had not made Perennius contemptuous of the thunderbolts.
The mouth of Typhon's Cavern flared upward like the wide-spread jaws of a snake. The open sky was now almost three hundred feet above the agent. As Perennius plodded forward, what remained of the dome arched overhead. The rock under his feet was smooth. Acidic ground water percolating through the limestone had dissolved away a great bubble until the roofing layer grew too thin to support its own weight. At the bottom of the cavity, the water had polished and widened the fissure through which it had drained toward the bowels of the Earth. It had formed this cave, this track to a mythical Hell ... and to a real horror quite as fearful as the imaginary one, if Calvus were to be believed.
Perennius continued to descend carefully. Already he was beneath the level of the gorge proper, though there was no sense yet of being within a cave. It was more as if night were falling around him, darkening his surroundings without physically enclosing him. Still further beneath the agent, at the point at which the cavern did narrow significantly, was a pillared, rectangular shrine. It had no roof. The natural curve of the wall protected the chapel interior perfectly, even though that curve was fifty feet above the transom.