‘Oh, hush. I just froze him to stop the bleeding until I can get him to the island. The injury itself isn’t so bad, but the bleeding’s tearing up the rest of his brain. The freezing slows it down to a trickle. That’s all I can do for right now, but it should be enough to keep his body from doing any more damage to itself while you’re taking him back to Sama.’
‘There’s no hope,’ Betuana said with a look of anguish.
‘What are you talking about? I can have him back on his feet in a day or two—but I have to take him to the island where I can control time. The brain is easy. It’s the heart that’s so—well, never mind that. Listen closely, Betuana. As soon as you and Vanion get him to Sama, I want you to go to the Atan border as fast as you can run. As soon as you get across that line, fall on your knees and start praying to your God. He’ll be stubborn—he always is—but keep after him. Make a pest of yourself until he gives in. I need his permission to take Engessa to my island. If nothing else works, promise him that I’ll do something nice for him someday. Don’t be too specific, though. Keep bearing down on the fact that I can save Engessa, and he can’t.’
‘I will do as you have commanded, Divine One,’ Betuana declared.
‘I didn’t command, Betuana. I only suggested. I don’t have the authority to command you.’ The Child Goddess turned to Vanion. ‘Let me see your sword,’ she said. ‘I want to have a look at this yellow blood.’
Vanion drew his sword and offered it to her hilt-first.
She shuddered. ‘You hold it, dear one. Steel makes me nauseous.’ She squinted at the stains on the blade. ‘Astonishing,’ she murmured. ‘That isn’t blood at all.’
‘It’s what came out of them when we cut them.’
‘Perhaps, but it’s still not blood. It’s some kind of bile. Klael’s going a little far afield for allies. Those giants you ran across don’t come from here, Vanion. They aren’t like any creatures on this world.’
‘We noticed that almost immediately, Divine One.’
‘I’m not talking about their size or shape, Vanion. They don’t even seem to have the same kind of internal organs as the humans and animals. I’d guess that they don’t even have lungs.’
‘Everything has lungs, Aphrael—except maybe fish.’
‘That’s here, dear one. If these creatures have bile in their veins instead of blood, then they’re relying on their livers for—’ she broke off, frowning. ‘I guess it is possible,’ she said a little dubiously. ‘I’d hate to smell the air on their world, though.’
‘You do know that I haven’t got the foggiest idea of what you’re talking about, don’t you?’
She smiled. ‘That’s all right, dear one. I love you anyway.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘It could be good country, friend Tikume,’ Kring said, adjusting his black leather jerkin and looking around at the rocky desert. ‘It’s open and not too rugged. All it needs is water—and a few good people.’ The two of them rode at the front of their disorganized mob of Peloi.
Tikume grinned. ‘When you get right down to it, friend Kring, that’s all Hell really needs.’
Kring laughed. ‘How far is it to this Cynesgan camp?’ he asked.
‘Another five leagues. It’s easy fighting, Domi Kring. The Cynesgans ride horses and carry curved swords much like your sabers,. but their horses are scrubby and not very good, and the Cynesgans are too lazy to practice their swordsmanship. To make it even better, they wear flowing robes with big, floppy sleeves. Half the time they get tangled up in their own clothing.’
Kring’s grin was wolfish.
‘They run fairly well,’ Tikume added, ‘but they always come back.’
‘To the same camps?’ Kring asked incredulously.
Tikume nodded. ‘It makes it even easier. We don’t have to go looking for them.’
‘Incredible. Are they using rotten tree-stumps for leaders?’
‘From what I’ve heard, they’re getting their orders from Cyrgon.’ Tikume rubbed his shaved scalp. ‘Do you think it might be heresy to suggest that even a God can be stupid?’
‘As long as you don’t say it about our God, I think you’re safe.’
‘I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the Church.’
‘Patriarch Emban’s a reasonable man, Domi Tikume. He won’t denounce you if you say unflattering things about our enemy.’
Kring raised up in his stirrups to peer across the brown, gravelstrewn expanse of the Desert of Cynesga. ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been in a real fight for a long time.’ He sank back into his saddle. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I talked with friend Oscagne about the possibility of a bounty on Cynesgan ears. He said no.’
‘That’s a shame. Men fight better if they’ve got an incentive of some kind.’
‘It even gets to be a habit. We had a fight with the Trolls up in northern Atan, and I had a dead Troll’s ear half sawed-off before I remembered nobody was around to buy it from me.
‘That’s a funny-looking hill up there, isn’t it?’ He pointed ahead at an almost perfectly shaped dome rearing up out of the desert floor.
‘It is a little odd,’ Tikume agreed. ‘There aren’t any rocks on its sides—just dust.’
‘Probably some kind of dust-dune. They have sand-dunes down in Render that look like that. The wind whirls the sand around and leaves it in round hills.’
‘Would dust behave like sand?’
‘Evidently so. There’s the proof just up ahead.’
And then, even as they watched, the hill split down the middle and its sides fanned out. They stared at the triangular face of Klael as he rose ponderously to his feet, shedding great waterfalls of dust from his gleaming black wings.
Kring reined in sharply. ‘I knew something wasn’t right about that hill!’ he exclaimed, cursing his own inattention, as their men surged around them.
‘He didn’t come alone this time!’ Tikume shouted. ‘He had soldiers hidden under his wings. Cold!’
‘Big devils, aren’t they?’ Kring squinted at the armored warriors rushing toward them. ‘Big or little, though, they’re still infantry, and that’s all the advantage we need, isn’t it?’
‘Right!’ Tikume chortled. ‘This should be more fun than chasing Cynesgans.’
‘I wonder if they’ve got ears,’ Kring said, drawing his saber.
‘If they do, we might just want to gather them up. I haven’t given up on friend Oscagne yet.’
‘There’s one way to find out,’ Tikume said, hefting his javelin and leading the charge.
The standard Peloi tactics seemed to baffle Klael’s soldiers. The superb horses of the nomads were as swift as deer, and the eastern Peloi’s preference for the javelin over the saber was an additional advantage. The horsemen split up into small groups and began their attack. They slashed forward in long files, each group concentrating on one of the steel-masked monsters and each Peloi hurling his javelin into the huge bodies at close range and then swerving away to safety. After a few such attacks, the front ranks of the enemy warriors bristled like hedgehogs with the short spears protruding from their bodies.
The armored soldiers grew increasingly desperate, and they flailed ineffectually at their swift-charging tormentors with their brutal maces, savaging the unoffending air and almost never striking a solid blow.
‘Good fight!’ Kring panted to his friend after several charges. ‘They’re big, but they’re not quite fast enough.’
‘And not in very good condition either,’ Tikume added. ‘That last one I skewered was puffing and wheezing like a leaky bellows.’
‘They do seem to be having some trouble getting their breath, don’t they?’ Kring agreed. His eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Wait a minute, let’s try something. Tell your children to just ride in and then wheel and ride out again. Don’t waste any more javelins.’
‘I don’t quite follow, Domi.’
‘Have you ever gone up into the high mountains?’