They looked around, not that there was a lot to see. The room was completely empty and unadorned. At its opposite end was another, more conventional looking door. Dynahla made for it, and they all trailed after him.
The door, when they came to it, seemed incongruous. It was made of wood, or something approximating it, and it had a chunky brass handle. Dynahla opened it. Beyond was a tunnel, again white, again brightly lit by an unseen source.
“Now what?” Jup said.
“Not much further,” the shape-changer told him.
He entered the tunnel, Stryke and the rest close behind. As they started to walk, Spurral glanced back. She wasn’t surprised to see that the door they had just used was no longer there.
The tunnel ran straight and level for a distance none of them could estimate. In terms of time, they could have sung perhaps ten verses of one of their marching songs before they came to its end.
“Oh look,” Haskeer mouthed sarcastically, “ another door.”
This one could have been made of iron. It was stout and set with studs, and had a latch with a thick metal ring. Dynahla reached out and turned it. Hands hovered over sword hilts as the door swung open.
A different kind of light greeted them. It was natural, compared to what they had come from, and was accompanied by a mild, fragrant breeze. They filed out.
It was what they thought of as a normal landscape. There was greenery and trees. The sky was a proper colour, and a big yellow, summer sun beat down from it. Yet the northern star was somehow still visible, twinkling above emerald hills. They heard what might have been soft birdsong.
“Don’t be complacent,” Dynahla warned them. “What appears ordinary may not be what it seems.”
“We keep going north?” Stryke asked.
“Yes.”
“How far?”
“Who can say? It could be a short journey or a lengthy march.”
“Can’t we speed things up?”
“We could find mounts.”
“In this place?”
“Like I said, there’s life here.”
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” the shape-changer confessed. “Just once, when I first came to Serapheim’s private universe. That was a long time ago, and I stayed there until I was sent to you.”
“So you came out this way?”
“No. Serapheim used the power of the instrumentalities to transport me directly to your location.”
“But you’ve been here once before, so you know what to expect.”
“Only in the broadest sense. Like I said, this place has a random element. I very much doubt it would be the same as it was on my only previous visit.”
Stryke chewed that over as they continued walking.
Eventually they came to a river.
“This is a likely place to find our ride,” Dynahla told them in a low tone, while signalling them to quieten down.
It was softly agreed that Dynahla, Stryke, Coilla and Jup would scout for mounts. They moved stealthily towards the riverbank, leaving the rest of the band sheltering on the edge of a copse.
Luck was with them. They found what they were looking for near the water’s edge. Four or five creatures, each as large as three warhorses, with elongated, ribbed bodies of whitish-brown, and a forest of legs. The millipedes’ rudimentary faces were dominated by a ravening mouth and a pair of unblinking, black button eyes.
“Dangerous?” Stryke said, peering round the rock they were hiding behind.
“Troublesome, more like,” Dynahla replied. “But they can be made to carry us.”
“How?”
The shape-changer explained.
Stryke went to fill in the rest of the band and got them down to the riverbank for a look. They took the sight of gigantic multi-legged insects in their stride, even if Wheam went a little pale. Standeven, who didn’t know whether to be appalled or disgusted, swore he wouldn’t go near the things. A threatening fist shut him up.
When they were set, Stryke said, “Ready, Dynahla?”
“Yes.”
“Sure you can fake something that big?”
“Just about. It’s takes a lot of stamina to maintain it. But once we get them working I can give it up. Now if you could give me some room…”
They moved away and watched as he went to the ground and twisted, contorted and expanded. They saw the sprouting of a myriad legs, the emergence of coal-black eyes and rapacious mouth.
Finally he was done. He rose up as a creature identical to the ones scooping water on the riverbank. The question was whether they would accept him as their own. Moving sinuously, numerous limbs working in unison, the bogus millipede scuttled towards them. He brushed Standeven’s leg as he passed. The human shuddered, eyes closed.
They need not have worried. After some snuffling, twittering and a winding insectoid dance, Dynahla’s counterfeit was accepted. Shortly after, he led them to the band.
The millipedes turned out to be surprisingly docile. They did prove hard to mount, however, and harder to stay on. For Standeven, getting aboard was an ordeal, and he got a lot of unwanted help. The creatures were big enough to take the whole band between them, with six or seven sitting astride each extensive back. The orcs wove vines for reins and to lash themselves in place.
Dynahla’s millipede carried no riders. His job was to lead the genuine creatures, a task made possible by assuming a female form. The real ones were all male.
They set off at a fast crawl, the band trying to adapt themselves to the left-to-right, right-to-left meandering gait of their mounts.
The terrain they passed through was basically unvarying. It was all rural, as far as they could see, and they came across no cottages, farms or any other signs of habitation. There was an abundance of animal life, mostly evidenced by rustlings in the undergrowth as they scampered past, or the briefest glimpse of fur or hide as something darted for cover. At one point they saw a herd of beasts, gathered in a field on sloping ground. But they were too far away to make out what they were.
Their journey stretched on, and as time passed they became aware that the day had not matured since they arrived. The sun was in exactly the same place in the sky.
“Dynahla told me that it’s always the peak of the day here,” Stryke explained.
“Is it ever night?” Coilla said over his shoulder.
“I asked him about that. He said we wouldn’t want to be here when it happened.”
Shortly after, the landscape began to change. It grew sparser, and rocky. A clump of pallid cliffs loomed ahead, with a narrow canyon punched through it.
The Dynahla millipede, in the lead, came to a halt, causing the procession to slow and then stop. He transformed, contracting, writhing and thrashing until he assumed his usual form. The true millipedes seemed unfazed by the loss of their amour.
He was dusting himself off when Stryke slid down and went to him.
“What’s up?”
“That.” He pointed towards the cliff.
Stryke had to strain to see what it was. Even so, he could only make out a dark shape against the lighter background of rock. “What is it?”
“Something you have to take. Assuming you can get away with it alive.”
26
“ What do we have to take?” Stryke said. “What’s so important?”
“I believe that what lies over there is going to be vital to us. But we need more information. Will you let me take a look?”
“Go ahead.”
The shape-changer transformed himself into a bird. It was difficult to say what kind. A large seagull, perhaps, although it was black. He took off at speed.
“Why does he always seem to know more than he’s telling?” Jup wondered.
“That’d crossed my mind,” Haskeer said.
“A short journey, then.”
Dynahla was soon back. Once he changed form he stated, simply, “It’s a weapon.”
“What kind?” Stryke asked.
“A kind you’re unlikely to have seen before. You should go and look at it.”