HarThass, still as stone, began to sweat with the force he was using in some cold effort; at last he said, raising his eyes to the other Seers, “You fracking incompetents! Even without the girl to hinder you, you can’t—I did not mean for them all to get by that molten lake! Not all. What were you about? Daydreaming. You could have put a wolf or two in to boil!” He glared at EnDwyl as if it were his fault too and kicked the gray in the ribs to vent his anger, went lurching off at a gallop that nearly unseated him as the animal shied around a boulder.
He was no great horseman, the Seer of Pelli.
*
Ram and Skeelie stood some yards beyond the boiling lake, the wolves clustered around them. The wolf who had nearly fallen in lay licking her burned leg. They had barely made it across as the Seer of Pelli sent a second sickening force to topple and unnerve them; had clung creeping along the damp wall, the heat nearly unbearable, singeing whiskers and faces, the Seer’s force pulling them like a magnet toward that boiling mass; had tumbled at last onto cool, firm stone nearly breathless.
Skeelie said, “Well, at least our clothes are dry. We were cold, we wanted to be warm.”
“Warm. Not singed.” He knelt to examine Celic’s burned leg. They didn’t even have water to ease the burn—and all of them were thirsty now—no salve to help her, nothing. They stared back at the flaming lake, then turned away from it, sick at the close escape. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled the cave.
Red reflections from the fiery lake glanced across the cave walls. The hurt bitch moaned, then was still. She was a gentle, deep gray little wolf. “Celic,” Ram said. “Celic.” She looked at him with kindness in spite of the pain. They went on at last, Celic hopping on three feet. The cave grew smaller, then larger again, always lit by a dull light as if fissures opened somewhere above them. When they made a crude camp at last, the wolves paced guard, several at a time, as the children slept. They came, near to noon the next day, to a honeycombed expanse through which they must crawl. Blind white lizards scuttled away, stirred by their vibrations against the stone. Skeelie shivered. “We must be near the other side of the mountain by this time. And we keep dropping.”
That will make the climb longer, up into Tala-charen.”
“There’s nothing growing, no morliespongs, our food wont last long if . . .”
“Maybe—maybe between the mountains something will be growing. We’ll need water. There’s nothing, just those trickles in the rock.” The children had lapped at the damp rock just as the wolves had, absorbing every drop into their dry throats.
The cave grew narrower, the ceiling lower. They were so thirsty. The weight of the mountain above them was oppressive. Celic kept up on her three legs very well. Ram felt the powers converging on Burgdeeth, knew that the slaves would come out soon through the completed statue, to challenge Venniver. That the Pellians were drawing close to Burgdeeth. The power that lay in Tala-charen could help Jerthon; and without it, the battle would be bloody indeed, very close. He pressed on, pale and silent.
The tunnel grew very tight, almost completely dark. HarThass’s darkness rode with them; the mountain whispered with voices that touched their minds then vanished. “I’m afraid,” Skeelie said quietly, but did not slack her pace. Something cold pushed past them unseen; the air stirred suddenly.
Then in the distance they saw flame blocking the tunnel, a nearly human figure with fire playing over its warty hide. Ram felt out to touch its sullen cruelty; then slowly and carefully he spun a web of confusion, deluding, misleading until at last it turned away into some dark fissure. When they passed the narrow opening, they saw its red reflection moving. Fire ogre. “Cruel, but mindless,” Ram said to reassure himself; but it didn’t reassure him.
And he felt the gantroed, knew it crawled in caves directly above them, ever pacing them.
There’s a stair ahead,” Skeelie said. “Look.” They could just make out a narrow, twisting stair leading upward; they ran, began to climb at once, feeling their way with care, clinging to the stone steps. The wolves growled at something Ram could not sense and pushed on quickly upward.
Finally they thought the air was fresher; then they began to see the steps clearly, and there was light coming down from above them. Soon they could see the stormy sky and feel the damp wind in their faces. They came up out of the well of stairs into the sky; and ahead rose Tala-charen, its peak lost in cloud. They had only to cross the green saddle of valley that ran like a bridge across empty sky. The setting sun cast one harsh orange streak beneath the boiling clouds, then disappeared.
They started down across the meadow, and when their feet touched soft grass, the wolves lapped moisture from the blades. Ram turned to wait for them and felt the mountain lurch, the earth beneath them jolt sickeningly. He grabbed Skeelie, threw her down as the wolves went belly low. The mountain rocked. Ram felt the Seer’s power, knew HarThass would wait no longer. The ground rocked so hard he thought the earth would tear away. The empty spaces below them heaved up. “Crawl!” he shouted uselessly, for they were all crawling across the swaying meadow. “Get into Tala-charen.”
*
They could see its entrance, a thin opening, dark. And then suddenly fire ogres appeared in that dark hole, blinking as if the tumult of the earth had driven them from sleep. Ram tried to stand up, feet apart, and the valley shook, and the lower peaks tipped and swam. Thunder echoed. Fawdref pushed close to him. They were spun toppling again, clinging to the unstable earth.
The entrance to Tala-charen blurred, was lost in a burst of flame as more fire ogres emerged. The wolves moved forward, teeth bared. All the forces of Ere seemed to converge as the two mountains lurched. Stones broke away, went tumbling down. They heard a crack and saw flame burst from a peak far below.
At last they had crossed the rocking valley, knelt against the mountain in terror as boulders rolled and fell crashing. The fire ogres came toward them, ranked close, reaching. Skeelie’s knife was poised to strike; she screamed without sound. Fawdref leaped, and the stink of burning fur filled the wind. Ram grabbed him, wrapped his arms around him to extinguish flame, shouting the words of the belclass="underline" demanding. An ogre had Celic, flame covered her. Wolves cried out as they bit through flame. “Now!” Ram screamed, his fury more than his own; and caught his breath as rain came crashing, thundering down at his bidding.
The flames were drowned. Naked fire ogres like great toads fled falling over stones, back into the fissure. The wolves rolled in rain, killing fire. Ram stroked and stroked their poor burned faces.
They ran at last through the entrance, drenched, safe as long as they remained wet; ran past flame-filled caves, past staring eyes, fiery hands reaching then drawn back, to a spiral flight thin as glass; ran, loving the clammy feel of their wetness as they surged upward, wolves and children; and heard the ogres start up the steps behind them.
ELEVEN
Venniver reached to spear some roast stag from the tray Tayba held, then returned to his argument with Theel. He hardly noticed her. “. . . doesn’t matter, he’s of no use now, I’m finished with him. The statue . . .”
“He could be of use,” Theel said dryly. “Making tools. The forgeman—there’s a lot needed. One forgeman can’t—”
“We’ll have more craftsmen soon. Next time we go down into Zandour to trade.”
“I suppose so,” Theel said. “The Seer is a troublemaker.”
She turned away, sick at what Venniver intended; sick with the unease that had gripped her all afternoon, that held her now with such power that every movement seemed an effort. Her mind was hazy, confused. She heard Venniver say, “He could make problems. We . . .” Her thoughts turned coldly to the statue in the square.