Part 10 (1/2)

The unfortunate thief had swallowed more than one mouthful of quicksand, which had prevented him from shouting for help. Colwyn unhesitatingly splashed toward him, slowing only when his own legs began to vanish into the muck. The quicksand was especially treacherous and he could feel himself sliding into the bottomless ooze even as he flattened himself on the slick surface and extended his41 right hand. Menno's flailing fingers barely managed to lock with Colwyn's own.

The cyclops used Rhun and Oswyn as anchors while they in turn clung to Ergo and Torquil. With his retreat a.s.sured, he reached out and took Colwyn's left hand in an unbreakable grip-But Menno had found the center of the quicksand pool and no matter how hard Colwyn pulled, the thief continued to sink. His eyes bugged wide as he strained to reach Colwyn with his other hand, but already his shoulders had slipped beneath the surface.

The veins stood out on Colwyn's neck as he strained with the effort of maintaining his hold. ”Hang on, Menno!”

They were the last words the poor man heard. His fingers slipped free of Colwyn's. With a faint hissing sound he vanished beneath the surface. There weren't even any bubbles to mark his grave.

The cyclops had to use all his great strength to pull Colwyn clear of a like death. Every eye and hand was bent to the rescue effort.

So no one saw the visitor who approached the seer from behind. He was of similar height and dimensions. In fact, he was identical to the wise man in every respect save one. When he blinked, there was a definite crimson flash from his eyes.

The seer sensed the presence. ”Is that you, t.i.tch?”

The newcomer extended a hand and rested it gently on the nape of the seer's neck. ”It is I, brother. Rest now.”

The fingers clenched. The muscles that drove them were more than human.

There was no compa.s.sion in that grasp, only efficiency. The seer let out a single, whispery gasp and then he was dead. No one saw the changeling slide the tired old body into the swamp. The Wyn-nah-Mabrug claimed another secret.

With a grunt the cyclops finally yanked Colwyn clear, stood him on sh.o.r.e.

”My thanks, friend.” Colwyn's gaze returned to the place where Menno had vanished. The surface was once more calm and deceptive.

”No one could have saved him,” Rell murmured.

”I had his hand. I had it in mine,” Colwyn muttered. ”I lost him.”

”The swamp took him from you. n.o.body lost him,” said Torquil. ”Menno would have been first to agree. Not twenty men could have pulled him clear, as deeply as he'd sunk. He'd found the center of the pit.”

”The earth has a strong grip,”Ynyr commented. ”When it wants someone badly enough there is nothing any mortal can do.”

Colwyn considered as he stared at the hand that had so recently held that of a living man, a companion. Then he put the memory behind him. ”We still have not gained what we came here for.” He glanced toward the smallest member o his army.

”t.i.tch, how far to the temple?”

”Not far now,” the boy a.s.sured him quietly. He looked to the seer for confirmation, but the seer appeared absorbed in a study of the swamp.

”Oswyn, stay here and make sure we're not being followed.”

The thief looked uneasy. ”I acknowledge you as king, Colwyn, but this is no royal court.”

Torquil took a step toward him, fingering the hilt of his sword. ”Are you so recently escaped from an early death that you're already anxious to tempt it again?”

”Easy,” said a deep voice, interrupting. The cyclops looked down at Colwyn.

”I will stay behind. I am used to solitude. Working alone will not trouble me.”

”All right,” Colwyn agreed, seeing the logic of the giant's words. Oswyn breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Colwyn moved to stand close to the seer. ”I'll lead the seer. t.i.tch, you take the lead.”

”Thank you, brother,” said the changeling in the seer's voice. He reached a hand toward Colwyn's shoulder.

It did not reach its goal. Torquil stepped between them. ”I'll lead the old man, Colwyn. You go out in front with the boy.”

The changeling's mastery of mimicry did not extend to expressing disappointment. It immediately s.h.i.+fted its groping paw to the bandit leader's shoulder and proceeded to ignore him. It had no interest in Torquil and kept its attention focused obtusely on Colwyn. In addition to inhuman strength it was possessed of inhuman patience. It could wait. The right time would present itself.

It always did.

As they continued onward, the terrain soon changed, revealing a second large42 lake off to their left. Colwyn was glad to see it, even though its predecessor had disgorged a band of Slayers. They would not be surprised like that again, and water was no trickster like quicksand. At least if they were forced into the lake they would be able to swim. Not like poor Menno.

They did not encounter any more quicksand, however. The ground remained soggy but no boot sank more than an inch into the surface. He thought of asking the seer or t.i.tch how they'd lost the path and stumbled into the quicksand pit, then decided that even a seer could make mistakes. Obviously it had been a long time since the wise man had traveled this country, and swamps can s.h.i.+ft themselves about with every change of seasons. It was a wonder they'd not encountered more troubles than they already had.

There was nothing to mark the place as special or chosen when they finally arrived. No monoliths, no graven images, no moss-covered walls. It presented the same aspect as the rest of the Great Swamp, but t.i.tch immediately noticed something Colwyn and the others would have pa.s.sed by.

”There.” Torquil and the seer-that-was-not moved forward.

”We are in sight of the trees, brother.”

Ahead and slightly to one side three trees emerged from the ground, their trunks pressing tight until they rose mist-ward as a single bole. Unusual but hardly unique, the sight would have gone unnoticed by anyone unfamiliar with its ancient meaning. Certainly Colwyn and Torquil would have marched on past without sparing the awkward growth a second look.

Staying long in one place always made the Cyclops nervous. He liked to keep moving, and it had been some time since his newfound companions had vanished ahead of him, swallowed up by fog and distance. He'd remained behind to guard the rear against nothing but mud, for nothing had appeared that would demand his attention. Besides, there was no telling what new dangers still lay ahead. His friends might need his help again very soon.

So be it, he decided. He would continue to serve as rear scout, but would interpret that order to suit his own nature. Skirting the quicksand pit, he began to follow his friends' footsteps, taking special care to give any body of water larger than a bathtub a close inspection. He saw nothing more dangerous than frogs and newts. There were no more Slayers preparing watery ambush. He strained his ears and heard only swamp sounds.

He was debating whether or not to increase his pace when a faint rus.h.i.+ng noise caught his attention. Odd tides caressed the Great Swamp. Probably that was what had confused the seer and t.i.tch. In drier times of year, the quicksand pits might not exist.

As he held his balance and watched, he saw the water draining into some hidden cavern. As it did so, the source of the peculiar slapping noise emerged from the shallows. Behind him, where quicksand had reclaimed dry land, the muddy bridge across the treacherous bog was rising once more. But there was something more, a different noise. Flesh beating against the damp soil.

A limp arm swung over a second time to smack the mud. The cyclops recognized Menno's s.h.i.+rt as the body was thrust clear of the water. Too bad for the man. A rotten way to die.

Then his regrets turned to curiosity and his curiosity quickly became fearful concern.

He hurried toward the newly emerged land bridge, not caring if the earth suddenly chose to turn to quicksand again beneath his boots. He knelt and turned the second body over, only to find himself staring into the peaceful, silent face of the dead seer. But if the seer lay here by Menno, dead as the throat of an old fire-mountain, then who walked in his guise alongside the boy and the bandit leader? Realization came with terrifying speed.

Like Colwyn, Torquil was searching for signs that this spot represented the end of their search. Like him, he found nothing.

”Are you sure this is the place, old man?”

”The boy will know,” the changeling replied sibilantly.

t.i.tch looked to his master. ”We are in sight of the trees, brother.”

Ynyr frowned as the silence stretched into minutes. He didn't understand his old friend's hesitation. Of course, he had no knowledge of the proper procedure to follow. Perhaps this contemplative pause on the part of the seer was how the enchantment began. Still, something didn't feel right to him. He kept his concern to Page 43 himself, however. The seer is old. Give him time.

At last he spoke and Ynyr was able to relax.

”He who seeks the knowledge must lead me to the appointed place. No one else may approach. The magic is powerful. Have a care you all stand well back.” Torquil and his men needed no further urging. They stepped several paces farther back from the tri-trunked tree.

Colwyn exchanged places with Torquil, waited until the seer had a comfortable grip on his shoulder. ”How do I lead you, wise one?”