It had fed last night on a pair of plump goats, and usually when recently fed it was as placid as a pampered housecat; today, though, the harsh landscape and crunching cinders seemed to upset it, and it growled softly, low in its throat, as a new twist of smoke drifted up the western sky.
Garth watched the smoke, and suddenly realized it had risen from a point between peaks; he stared at the jagged black shapes and thought he made out the curve of a dome amid the irregular constructions of nature. The shadows still obscured all color and detail, but the longer he looked the more convinced he became that there was, in fact, at least one man-made structure in these somber hills. He called the word that Koros recognized as a command to halt, as even the smooth grace of the warbeast's stride jogged him sufficiently to make it difficult to focus at so great a distance.
Yes, there was something there. He could not be sure what, as the sun was now slipping below the highest peaks, making it harder than ever to distinguish anything. He looked about, to rest his eyes, and noticed a farmer, a hundred yards away, leaning on a hoe and studying the overman and warbeast.
"Ho! Farmer!" he called.
The man did not move.
"Come here! I would speak with you!" He motioned.
The farmer looked about, as if to see if the overman meant someone else, though there was no other living being in sight, only the man's own twenty acres and the empty road stretching away in either direction. Then he shrugged and came, dragging his hoe casually, to stand a dozen yards away.
"Farmer, is that Dыsarra?" Garth pointed at the spot where he had seen the dome.
The farmer followed the direction of the pointing finger and said, "I suppose it is." His accent was strange to Garth, harsh and guttural, but his words were plain enough.
"How far is it?"
The farmer shrugged. "Couldn't say. You're an overman, I know, but what is that you're riding?" He studied Koros closely, from the glittering three-inch fangs in its jaw to the tip of its lashing tail, and from its glossy black-furred shoulder to its huge padded paws. A good eighteen feet long, the monster resembled nothing so much as an overgrown panther, though proportioned differently in order to support its greater bulk. It had a cat's golden slit eyes and triangular ears, stubby black whiskers on its muzzle, and a long slender tail. No panther had such fangs, though, and both legs and face seemed oddly elongated; it stood nearly as tall as the farmer himself. Pure black throughout, with no touch of color nor single gray hair, its muscles rippled smoothly under its fur; it clearly had no trouble at all in carrying the full weight of the armored overman and his supplies.
"It is a warbeast."
Koros growled.
The farmer suddenly seemed less sure of himself. He had assumed that any animal that served as a beast of burden, however formidable it might appear, must be docile and harmless-but no peaceful ox nor temperamental cart-goat ever made a noise like that. He thought better of previous actions, and said, "Dыsarra is ten leagues distant, my lord, along this same road, three leagues past the crossroads at Weideth."
"Crossroads?"
"Yes. It's of no importance, though; for Dыsarra you ride straight through on this same road, making no turn."
"What is Weideth?"
"The village at the crossroads; a small town, with no wall. You'll have no trouble there."
Garth was less certain of that than his informant seemed to be. This man seemed to accept an overman and warbeast calmly enough, but would an entire village?
"Is there no way around it? I do not wish to be seen."
"Around? No, my lord, not that I know of; the terrain thereabouts is very rough, and Weideth lies in a narrow pass, astride the road. It's a wonder they don't charge a toll, in truth."
"I see. My thanks, man."
The man bowed and stepped back, and when Garth made no further comment nor move to stop him, he turned and departed at a brisk pace.
This village, Garth thought as he urged Koros forward once again, was a nuisance. He did not dare risk losing his way at this point; he would have to ride through and hope he did not create too much of a commotion. Ten leagues to Dыsarra, and that three leagues past Weideth, the man had said; that meant he was seven leagues from the village. Seven leagues was two or three hours ride, perhaps a trifle more if the terrain was bad; if he kept riding he would pass through the village well after full dark, and reach Dыsarra in the middle of the night, while if he stopped and made camp he would arrive at midday tomorrow. Midday was scarcely a good time to try and slip unobtrusively through a village, nor was it a good time for reconnaissance in Dыsarra. He was not tired, and Koros was well-fed; he should have no trouble in completing his journey without further delay. If he were to be a thief, then he would arrive as a thief in the night; he spoke the command for a trot and the warbeast strode on, the only sound the soft crunching of cinders.
The moon was near full, making it easy to follow the road even after the sun was well down, though it was not actually necessary to see it since straying to either side would mean passing through the tall grass of late summer, easily two feet in height, that flanked the way. Besides the pale light of the moon, Garth noticed as well a dim red glow flickering about the mountaintops that grew as he approached-volcanic fires, of course. He began to share Koros' dislike for this country; such eerie lights seemed threatening. A volcano active enough to light the clouds at night could well be active enough to bury its surroundings in ash and lava, yet here he was riding ever closer.
It was more than two hours after he spoke to the farmer, well after the last trace of daylight had faded in the west, with only the white moonlight and the red glow of the volcano to see by, that he was first spotted by one of the sentries. Garth did not see the young woman, nor would he have paid her much heed if he had, but she saw him, and studied him closely before slipping from her hilltop post and running back to Weideth with her report.
The Seer of Weideth was finishing his final cup of wine and seriously considering retiring for the night when the sentry burst into the village's single nameless inn-which also served as the public meeting house and in rainy weather as a makeshift marketplace-with her news. She looked about wildly for someone to report her discovery to, but the village elders were all long abed; for want of a better audience, she directed her shout at the Seer.
"There is an overman on the East Road, riding upon a creature like none I have ever seen!"
The Seer smiled at her melodramatics. "Have you, then, seen every sort of beast there is? There are frequently overmen on the north and west roads, and they do not all make do with horses and oxen."
"Yes, but this one is on the East Road, and wearing armor!"
The Seer started to dismiss her with a wave. "Overmen do not use the East Road," he began.
"This one does! If you will not listen to me, I'll find someone who will!"
His hand fell, and for the first time the Seer looked directly at the girl's face. He realized that she spoke the truth; a part of his talent was knowing the truth when it was spoken, and this young woman-she could have seen no more than eighteen years-was not merely excited or mistaken. There was an overman on the East Road, which no overman had ridden in three hundred years; an overman had come out of the east.