"How found you your—ah—sensuous escapade?"
"Bumpy, a little like serving a cow elephant maddened by passion. I could have used stirrups there, too; I was almost thrown out on my head on the floor."
Karadur shuddered. "Was she pleased?"
"She seemed to be, albeit meseems she would have been receptive to more bouts than I was prepared to give. I was but a mere mortal man and a badly frightened one at that."
"Jorian! I have told you not to talk—"
"Oh, very well. But hereafter I'll confine my veocry to human women. If I could only get back my little Estrildis…" He wiped away a tear, then turned a startled face to the wizard. "Gods! I just thought: what if the seed take root?"
"Fear not, my son. A hybrid betwixt a man and one of the serpent people were impossible, which is perhaps as well. I tremble to think what a being combining her shape-changing powers and your craft and daring might do to the world!"
Chapter Seven
THE RUIN IN THE JUNGLE
IN the jungles of komilakh, which stretched for more than a hundred leagues from the marches of Mulvan to the Eastern Ocean, enormous trees of many species towered over a hundred cubits into the sky. In the upper branches, squirrels and monkeys scrambled and chattered; gaudy birds whirled and flapped and screeched. Lower down, beneath the permanent waves of this green sea of leaves, vines as thick as a man's leg hung in loops and braids and tangles. Along these lianas, hairy spiders as big as crabs, with eyes like octets of little diamonds, crept in search of prey. Parasitic plants with flowers of ghostly colors sprouted from the trunks and branches of the trees.
Still lower, in the permanent gloom of the ground level, an undulating surface of brown leaf mold stretched away among the tree trunks. Here and there this surface was broken by saplings—most of them dead —or clumps of ferns. From the ground, only an occasional fleck of blue sky could be seen through the all-covering ceiling of green; but now and then a golden gleam ahead through the trees gave the direction of the morning sun. Men seldom saw the larger denizens of this level—elephant, buffalo, tiger, rhinoceros, deer, antelope, tapir, and wild pig— because the beasts heard man afar off and made themselves scarce.
Through this somber, silent world, Jorian and Karadur rode, winding among the tree trunks and around the fern clumps, swaying and ducking to avoid the branches of saplings and the dangling loops of lianas. Jorian rode the tall roan, Oser; Karadur, the white ass. Their mounts' heads hung with fatigue, and their riders had to kick and beat them to prevent them from stopping every other step to snatch a mouthful of greenery.
They had been riding since well before dawn. When the brush was thin enough to permit, they forced the animals to a trot. They also kept turning their heads to look back and listen.
For several days they had fled from their pursuers, who consisted of two tracking elephants and ten well-armed mounted soldiers. At the beginning, the fugitives had had a start of several hours, because the first pursuit had been sent in the obvious direction, down the Bharma. But King Shaju had quickly corrected this mistake and dispatched another force up the Pennerath.
Although the pursuers' speed was limited by the elephants, who could not go long distances faster than a horse's trot, nevertheless the pursuers' familiarity with the country and the fact that they led spare horses enabled them to close the gap. When the farmlands of eastern Mulvan turned to isolated clearings and then gave way to roadless jungle, they were only an hour behind.
Since then, the fugitives had fled almost continuously, sleeping in snatches, sometimes on the backs of their animals. Both looked worn and weary. The fine clothes in which Jorian had begun his flight were now dirty, dusty, and stained by rain and sweat. This was the so-called dry season in Komilakh, when rain occurred only every two or three days in place of the continual downpour of summer.
Jorian was stripped to breeches and boots against the damp heat. His left arm was in a crude sling, and he handled the reins with his right hand. Two days earlier, in making camp, he had stepped into a hole, reached out to steady himself, and seized a branch of a small tree covered with long, needle-sharp spines. A few hours later, his left hand had been swollen to twice its normal size and had turned a fiery red. At the moment it was still too painful to use. Any sudden jerk sent sharp pains lancing up Jorian's arm, so that trotting his horse was one long agony. But the thought of being trampled by King Shaju's elephants urged him on.
From time to time he reined in his mount, to breathe the animals and to listen for pursuers. The night before, the rumbling purr of elephants had warned him of their approach. Luckily, this had occurred in a patch of jungle so dense that neither party had sighted the other. Galloping recklessly and riding the animals along a stream bed for several furlongs, Jorian thought they had thrown off the pursuit; but he was taking no chances.
Now, as he halted and let his horse munch ferns, he raised a hand Karadur froze. To their ears came, far but unmistakable, the squeal of an elephant and the jingle of harness.
"Doctor," said Jorian, "another run, ere our beasts have rested and fed, will kill them. Now's the time for your confusion spell."
"It will be the last time," mumbled Karadur, "for I have materials for but one such spell. Help me down from this ass, and I will do what I can."
Soon the old wizard had a tiny fire going. "Dry twigs, dry twigs!" he muttered. "Nothing wet, for that we want as little smoke as possible. Now, let me see, where did I put the powders for Confusion Number Three?"
He fumbled in his garments and at length produced one of his compartmented purses. When he opened this, however, he exclaimed in horror, "Ah, woe! I have none of the powder of the yellow mushroom of Hroth!" He searched frantically. "I must have forgotten it when I made up this battery of powders. We are lost!"
"Can't you use any old mushroom? Like this one?"
"I know not how it would work. But let us try; it can scarcely put us into a worse predicament."
Karadur crumbled the mushroom into the tiny caldron, added other substances, and stirred. Leaves rustled without any detectable breeze, and the green canopy overhead seemed to press down upon them, closer and darker…
At last Karadur leant back against a tree trunk. "Water!" he croaked in a ghost of a voice. "I am spent."
Jorian passed him the leathern water bottle. As Karadur drank, Jorian sniffed the air.
"What in the name of Zevatas is that stench?" said Jorian. He sniffed again. "It's you—nay, it's both of us! Your spell must have gone awry. We stink like a gymnasium, a slaughter-house, and a dunghill, all rolled into one. The gods grant that a wind carry not this odor to our pursuers… Oh, plague! There it goes!"
A wind had swung up, rustling the leaves of the vast green awning overhead and swaying the smaller branches. Only a light breeze could be felt at ground level, but such as it was, it came from the east and blew towards King Shaju's men.
"Mount! And be yare about it!" snapped Jorian.
"I cannot; I am fordone—"
"You damned old fool, get on that ass or I'll haul you on by your beard! Here they come!"
Through the forest came the loud, brassy cry of an elephant. This was echoed by a trumpet's blast and the sound of voices and movement. Jorian picked up Karadur bodily and set him down on the ass. Then he mounted himself.