The blackness was impenetrable. Since fleeing the cavern of the Black Stone, Morgain could have been physically blind and it would have made no difference. Now there was something else that moved in this lost labyrinth-some creature of this sunless maze that stalked her through the darkness. One of the serpent-folk? Or some new and deadly horror of the pits? One, or a score? Morgain’s imagination conjured a hundred dread visions, as she lay paralyzed from fear.
The grotto where she crouched stank of new death and old decay-and of a deeper, more repellent stench she could not identify, although it might have been the reptilian musk of the serpent-folk steeped in a slime of filth. In the darkness sounds seemed enormously magnified, distorted further by the workings of her frighted imagination. Why, if her panting breath and quick heartbeat deafened her own ears in the silence, could she not hear the breathing of her stalker? Only the chance rattle of scattered bones as it approached. No footfall. Was there a dry rustle, as of some smooth-scaled bulk drawn across stone?
The Pictish girl was too close to the wild, too certain of her atavistic instincts, to doubt that the unseen presence in the darkness was anything less than malignant-and was stalking her with deadly intent.
With every sense strained, Morgain sought to pinpoint the thing that stalked her-all the while frantically formulating some means of escape. Obviously the blackness was no handicap to the creature. That it had not simply rushed upon her indicated it had some fear of her-or else that it was certain of its prey. Could it be the serpent-folk stealthily encircling her? With their stunted bodies, they might hesitate to close with the desperate Pict-she could smash their puny bones with the shard of flint she held in her fist.
A cold, slimy touch licked over her bare leg. Morgain screamed-the feral cry of the stone age savage unleashed from her Pictish soul-and flung her body away from the loathsome touch. A strong, certain grip closed over her leg, jerked her back.
Spitting like a cat, Morgain recoiled, struck out blindly at the vise-like grip that pinned her. The sharp edge of the flint shard ripped into cold and rubbery substance-boneless and the thickness of a man’s thumb. The grip tightened with crushing strength-hauled her clawing across the littered stone.
Morgain hacked frenziedly, then the sinewy bond parted, leaving its severed end wound about her bruised leg.
Flung back by the sudden release, Morgain scrambled across the stone floor. A cold breath of air warned her, and she flung herself away just as something foul slashed past her in the darkness.
Silence, except for her own hoarse breathing. And total darkness. Morgain realized she still had no conception as to what deadly presence invisibly stalked her.
A rustle of dry bone to her left.
Morgain sprang away from the sound. A heavy bulk seemed to flop against the stones as she ducked away. Again a loathsome touch of cold slime lashed across her flesh, striking her across her bare shoulders. The impetus of her lunge carried her away before the grip could tighten. Morgain cried out as she felt flesh rip from her raw back.
Dimly she realized that something still clung to her leg. She hacked desperately, felt the touch slacken and fall away. It had been the severed fragment of whatever had ensnared her leg an instant before.
Again the rush of cold air. Morgain leapt away. This time a vengeful snap from the space she vacated-the closing of deadly fangs, or only the splintering of dead bone?
A long bone rolled beneath her foot, almost tripping her as she backed away blindly. Instantly Morgain stooped and caught it up with her free hand. A femur, she judged, human or anthropoid, and heavy. It would make a good enough club, if she could only see to wield it.
Then the clatter of bones from behind her. Morgain spun, swinging out blindly with the heavy femur. The dense length of bone smashed into something in the darkness-something that crunched and yielded, spattered her arm with gouts of ichor.
Still silent, the unseen assailant went down under the impact. Striking at chest level, Morgain had no idea where her blow had fallen. She drew her arm back to strike again.
Something closed upon her club from behind, tore the femur from her grasp.
There were more than one…
Morgain leaped blindly forward. She fell headlong over the writhing mass of flesh that her blow had brought down-dying or only stunned, she never knew-no more than she could form a clear impression of what manner of creature she fought. Cold, repellent with slime-it was impossible in that fleeting contact to tell whether the abhorrent flesh beneath the slime was clad in scale or bristle or rubbery sinew. What might have been limbs slapped at her aimlessly, as the girl rolled past its heaving bulk and scrambled to her feet.
From the area of the writhing mass on the floor, now came the repulsive slap and smash of heavy bodies entangled in combat. Morgain sensed that many unseen presences had gathered about her here-that they now fell upon the creature she had wounded. In the horror-laden silence, she could hear the tear of rending flesh and bone-and of an unspeakably hideous sucking-or gushing-sound.
Sanity slipping from her, Morgain flung the chunk of flint into that monstrous feasting with all her strength, heard it smack into yielding flesh. Not daring to think about pursuit, the girl ran blindly into the darkness.
Something beyond panic now drove the girl onward. In the past few days she had suffered through physical and emotional ordeals that would have killed a girl of civilized races, or left her mewling and helpless in a mindless and broken shell. There is a limit to any human endurance. Morgain had been pushed somewhat beyond hers.
Beneath the madness that now gave strength to her aching limbs and overtaxed muscles, some instincts of self-preservation directed her toward the sound of rushing water. In a corner of her reeling consciousness, Morgain knew that one more loathsome touch, one fragmentary glimpse, of whatever nightmare stalked her in the dark and her mind would shatter into madness as black and ultimate as the darkness through which she fled.
Morgain fled she knew not where, naked and weaponless, on bleeding feet and cramping legs, oblivious to pain and fatigue. She did not know that they Eursued her. Confirmation of that pursuit could not ave increased her dread.
The cavern floor was rough and irregular. Morgain held her balance by mostly sheer luck, and by greater luck scrambled to her feet with whole limbs each time she fell. No longer did she caroom with bruising force from the passage walls. Evidently the cavern had swollen into a major grotto here. The stone beneath her feet was damp and cold-treacherous with dank scum. The roar of unseen waters grew steadily louder, although echoes in this vast labyrinth made its exact distance and position impossible to judge.
The air was cold and hung with mist now. The rock seemed of polished smoothness, slippery from the moist slime that splattered over her flailing legs. The rush of unseen waters seemed very near.
It was somewhat nearer than Morgain suspected.
A scramble of arms and legs as the rock shelf pitched sharply downward-slime-hung stone that gave no purchase-and Morgain dropped headlong into blackness that was suddenly icy and rushing and wet.