They followed him as he led the way into the foothills. They paused only to drink from the icy streams that tumbled down periodically from the higher slopes. Nyam shared out more of the food he had brought with him in the small sack, and they ate as they walked.
By midday they had put a significant distance between themselves and Voorkesh, heading south, parallel to the mountains. Far to their right, partially obscured by a heat haze, they could see the edge of the Blade Desert. Ahead was a narrow gorge, cutting more steeply into the mountains’ skirts as its foaming river tumbled below.
“This should be a barrier to any creatures of Voorkesh that pursue us,” said Nyam. “I’ll feel easier once we cross it.”
Cellester nodded. “Then we go south. Our journey to Valenar will be a long one. That desert stretches far to the south.”
“Surely you don’t mean us to traverse it!” said Nyam.
“No, we will need to keep to its edge.”
Nyam was looking up at the mountains. “There is a better way to Valenar. The elves built a watchtower up in the mountains centuries ago. It is named Taeris Mordel, the Eye of the North.”
Cellester frowned.
“We have come far together,” Cellester said, Vaddi could see the tension in the cleric, his whole manner one of unease. “Vaddi and I have been glad of your aid. On the airship, your swordsmanship was worthy of a knight. But I wonder … why are you here?”
Nyam laughed. “Why am I here? You think I chose to fall from the sky in that airship? You think I chose to stumble into Voorkesh?”
“Why were you on the airship?” Cellester snapped. “You had no need. You were paid handsomely for delivering us to Scaacrag.”
“I told you. I heard agents of the Claw plotting against you. I could hardly leave you to their evil ministrations.”
“You’re lying,” said Cellester.
Vaddi knew that Nyam had his own reasons for not revealing his real motives to the cleric. Then again, he could not know for certain that Nyam had told him the truth.
“We have fought together—saved each other’s lives!” exclaimed the peddler.
“Indeed!” Cellester snorted. “You are no common peddler.”
“If I had not perfected a degree of skill with the sword, I would have died long ago. The world is filled with hostility. Trust is a rare commodity.”
Vaddi looked at Cellester. “There is much that needs explaining,” he said. “I have put myself in your hands, Cellester, as my father wished, yet we were taken from Caerzaal’s clutches by that undead … thing. Aarnamor, you named him. And he named you. How is it you traffic with such creatures?”
Cellester’s frown deepened. He was controlling his anger with difficulty, Vaddi could see. “I had hoped not to use him, but our needs were desperate.”
“You summoned him,” Nyam said bluntly.
Cellester nodded. “In my younger days as a servant of the Church, I fell in with other clerics who were tempted by the darker arts. Ultimately it led to my disillusionment and is why I left and found solace with House Orien in Anzar’s service. Aarnamor was a warrior who sought power where he found it. He thought he could control his destiny. We were young and arrogant—and mistaken. Aarnamor’s reward was living death. But he swore never to serve the dark agencies. He detests the Claw and all it represents.” Cellester turned his anger on Nyam. “For which you should be thankful!”
Nyam shrugged. “I am alive.”
Vaddi fell only deeper confusion. Both these men seemed to have his interests at heart, yet both could equally serve their own causes.
“We are agreed on one thing,” said Nyam. “Our best course leads to Valenar, and we will need somewhere safe when night falls. If we go the way you suggest, cleric, we remain exposed.”
“You want to go up into those mountains and search for a myth?” snapped Cellester. “You call that safe?”
“What does Vaddi say?”
Vaddi shook his head. Both choices seemed poor ones. “Maybe we should give the mountains a try, at least for a few days. If we don’t have any luck, we’ll head for the desert’s edge.”
Cellester looked as though he would argue further, but reluctantly he nodded, as if sensing that Vaddi was resolved. “Then let us hurry.”
They threaded their way through the field of broken stones and scree, gradually moving up to a place where a number of fallen boulders had spilled into the river. They crossed it and headed south along the edge of the mountains. With afternoon waning, Nyam pointed.
“An old road,” he said. “It must be the way to the Eye of the North.”
Cellester looked sceptical, studying the ground. It was a path of sorts, but evidently it had not been used for many years.
Vaddi could see that it went into a narrow mountain pass that closed over it like a fist. “You want to go in there?” he asked.
“We need shelter. I’m exhausted.”
“Caerzaal’s servants will be out in force by night,” said Cellester. “We dare not be caught in the open, but there may be other dangers within the pass.”
Nyam drew his sword. “I’d prefer a roof over my head.”
A sound from behind them made them all turn. Somewhere in the folds of the rocks, on the edge of vision, something was stirring. The very rock wall shimmered, as though coming to life. As they watched, a huge chunk seemed to melt and slither down to the edge of the road.
It was enough to decide their next move and they sprinted for the cover of the gorge. Behind them the protoplasmic mass shook and formed itself into a shape some four feet tall and four across, the color of human skin. Vaddi looked back to see that this skin was stretching to reveal scores of eyes and mouths, teeth gleaming. The thing rolled forward like a massive amoeba, spitting gobbets and snarling, forming and re-forming like a living nightmare.
“Another of Voorkesh’s horrors!” cried Nyam.
“I think not,” said Cellester as they went into the shadows of the narrow defile. “It’s a mouther. Let’s just pray that it hunts alone.”
The monstrous creature rolled with surprising speed after its prey, its scores of eyes wide in anticipation of feeding, its many tongues lashing, a spray of poison spittle flying in ail directions. For a moment the narrow mouth of the defile impeded its bulk, but it merely adjusted its shape and came on, shrieking madly, the sound deafening in the confines.
“Can we outrun it?” Vaddi called.
They had come to a slightly wider passage. Far overhead the light was fading quickly and the first of the moons already rode the sky.
Cellester turned to face the mouther as it squeezed itself through the crevice. The cleric pulled back his sleeve and his amulet glowed as he uttered an incantation. Light formed around the amulet and then speared towards the mouther, striking it and exploding in a brilliant yellow wash. Hideous screams rang through the rock corridor from a score of mouths as the shuddering bulk began to shake, the walls of the passage groaning. Rocks and dust showered down from above and the stench of burning flesh hit the three fugitives like a rancid wave.
Gagging, they watched in horror as the mouther bubbled and frothed, its mass running like gelatinous fat. The rocks that fell upon it sank into the flesh, absorbed by it. Slowly the light from Cellester’s bolt died. As it did, the mouther settled, again solidifying, but its eyes glazed, flopping forward on dead stalks, and the mouths hung slack, tongues blackened. The last of the rockfall subsided, leaving the way behind them blocked.
“Excellently done.” Nyam laughed. “No one will follow us that way!”
Cellester shook his head. “Perhaps, but I would rather not have used power. It will draw our enemy to us.” He turned to Vaddi. “Never use the horn, Vaddi. Not here. It served us well on the island, but in this dark region it will act only as a beacon to every horror that dwells here.”