Rell turned and walked over to where Titch stood watching Kegan secure his own mount. He came up behind the boy and lifted him easily up behind the man. Titch turned to say something, then caught the look in the Cyclops's eye. Life with the seer had made the boy perceptive as well as quiet. In mat single glance he saw what awaited his great friend, and how near at hand it lay. For a boy he was very strong. There were not many tears.
That single eye produced only one. Gently Rell backed off.
Kegan watched curiously, said nothing until Rell had moved away. "He's not coming with us?"
"It is his time to die," Titch said softly.
Kegan was a practical man, not a diplomat. "We'll miss his help. If he's going to die anyway, why doesn't he come with us?"
"No. He must stay here and accept his fate. If he opposes it in any way, he will bring great pain on himself."
Kegan shrugged, urged his fire-mare forward. "A strange way to live. A stranger way to die. Be thankful, boy, we were given two eyes instead of one."
Ergo rode last in line and was quick to note the exchange. He turned in his saddle. "Rell"
"I must stay here, my magnificent friend. You and Titch have already realized your wishes. Soon I will realize mine."
Ergo reined his mount in. "We had no time to be friends. I mistrusted you when I first met you."
"And I was equally unsure of you," Rell replied.
"No time. Never enough time, it seems. I wish…" He shrugged helplessly. "Good-bye, friend."
"Farewell, Ergo. There was time enough for friendship. Go now without looking back. There'll be nothing to see."
But Ergo could not help looking back. Rell stood staring after the departing troupe, solid as the rock walls that enclosed him, until they swallowed him up,
Colwyn kept the pace easy until they were clear of the canyons. Ahead lay the southern plain and beyond, where the grass rusted, the Iron Desert. And Lyssa. Thoughts of her freshened his resolve. They had a long way to go.
Kicking his mount's flanks as hard as he could, he chucked the reins and let put a shout. The mare started, reared, then let herself go. The breeze in Colwyn's face became a gale, then a hurricane. Soon he was no longer riding, he was holding on for his life.
Behind him he heard yells and cries as his companions urged their steeds to keep pace. Hazarding a glance backward, he saw the frightened faces of his men hugging tight to massive necks, saw whitened fingers clutched convulsively around taut reins. Below the men were pounding, wondrous bodies, and between them and the earth were only blurs riding streaks of fire.
Carefully he sat up in the saddle and squinted into the wind. At this pace they might indeed reach the Iron Desert in time.
It had been a slow week and the boatman was hungry for a little business. He scratched at himself as he emerged from his hut, tugging at his jacket and grumbling at the lateness of the hour. Now, what fools would come atraveling this time of morning, when the moon insisted it was still night, no matter what the clock might say?
Well, they'd pay and pay plenty for disturbing him at such an unholy hour. Automatically he looked to his right. His ferry bobbed lazily at anchor, ready for the next crossing.
"Oh, you'll pay dearly for this boatride, gentlemen, whoever you are. And if you're nobles you'll pay in gold or get yourselves wet!"
Odd. Beneath the rumble of approaching hooves he thought he detected a faint hissing sound, like a kettle boiling over on a stove. Distant lightning, perhaps. At least it sounded like a large party. The night should prove profitable. If he felt like it and they were desperate enough to cross, he might make them pay for the whole week.
Suddenly he was fully awake and his eyes bugged as he saw the fire coming toward him. He looked wildly from right to left and finally threw himself onto the riverbank, hardly daring to look up.
But there was no explosion of water from riders plunging into the river. He gaped upward as the horses, trailing flame from their hooves, cleared the river in a single awesome bound to land safe and dry on the far shore. In another instant they were gone.
"Was that a dream?" he mumbled aloud. Nay, it was as real as the mud caking his face and clothes. He picked at it as he sat up and stared across the river. Before long his earlier mood had returned. Not only had he lost his expected customers, now he would have to pay some old woman in the village to clean his working clothes.
"And I'd have settled for a little silver," he groused as he staggered back into his hut.
Hearts pounded uneasily as the fire-mares drove their tireless way across the plains, particularly when they leaped a certain deep gorge no normal horse could have negotiated in three jumps. Confident and powerful they might be, but a man could only handle so much magic in one night. At least no one was in any danger of falling asleep in his saddle. Terror is a wonderful stimulant.
They'd reached the desert by the time the sun showed itself above the horizon. Red sand and gravel exploded beneath fiery hooves as the mares, seemingly as fresh as they'd been back in the canyon where they'd been saddled, thundered onward at Colwyn's urging. Strange green and brown plants appeared, causing those men with any strength to spare to wonder at their eerie shapes and absence of leaves.
Soon Colwyn was forced to slow. They were approaching a mountain. The mountain had regular sides and peculiar over-hangs, and projections. In the rising suns it shone a dull black.
Torquil reined in beside him and Colwyn pointed with his right hand. "There it is. I'd not thought to see such a thing. When this day is done, maybe we'll never have to see it again."
The Black Fortress towered before them, rising windowless and cold from the desert floor. Beneath, the ground had been permanently altered. Now it would do the same to the lives of the men who sat staring at it.
"Yes, there it is," Torquil muttered as he gazed at the alien monolith, "and none but us madmen would want to get this close to it."
There was no mistaking the resolve in Colwyn's voice. Knowing that at last they sat in sight of Lyssa's prison had revitalized him.
"We're going to get a lot closer to it. Closer than even madmen dream of getting." He glanced at the sky. "And quickly. It's almost sunrise." He led the charge toward the Fortress.
They spread out, combing the slick surface, having trouble keeping their footing on the glassy substance. Colwyn couldn't help but admire the construction. It was as smooth as the blade of a good sword and showed little sign of wear.
"Solid rock," Torquil groused, "or solid something, anyway. Might as well be rock. Not even a crack where an ant could force an entry. And steep enough to give a mountain goat pause." He eyed Colwyn, his gaze dropping significantly to the glaive slung at the prince's belt. Colwyn noted the glance and his hand went to the weapon. For a moment he considered using if.
Then he loosened his grip and shook his head. "No, not yet. It's not the right time. Ynyr warned me not to waste its power.''
"You'll have no chance to use it if we. can't get inside."
"We'll get in," Colwyn assured him. "We haven't come this far to be stopped at the last moment by the absence of a door."
"How will we get in? Even if we can find a door, what makes you think it will open from the outside?"
"We must find a door." He looked upward at the towering walls that rose toward the rapidly lightening sky. "And soon."
"Colwyn, watch out!" Oswyn yelled.
Above, a gap had opened in the side of the Fortress. Colwyn ducked just in time to avoid a blast of energy from the spear of a white Slayer. Other bursts struck all around him. Torquil huddled behind a dark protrusion. If they could just get within ax range of the Slayer…