Part 13 (1/2)

Isaiah turned on his heel and ran back through the camp, shouting orders as he went.

The juit bird fluffed out its feathers, gave Hereward a cool look, then stalked back to the company of its fellows.

They rode through the day as hard as they could. Isaiah spent half his time reining in his horse at the rear of the column to stare south, and half the time spurring his horse forward to urge the men onward.

The force was mounted, for which Isaiah was unendingly grateful, for it meant they could push north fast, but that positive was countered by the fact that feeding for the horses was poor at this time of the year and if he pushed too hard the animals would begin to founder in exhaustion.

How far to Elcho Falling? Too far. Isaiah knew the Skraelings would catch them and that they would need to battle it out.

How many men did he have? A little under one hundred thousand. Not enough to counter the millions of wraiths he knew must be surging northward.

Oh, and a flock of several million juit birds.

Isaiah had no idea what they would do, what they could do, but he feared it might not be enough against the sheer weight of the Skraeling numbers.

On those occasions when Isaiah stopped his horse to stare south, he thought he could just distinguish a brown haze at the limits of his vision.

Dust thrown up by the racing feet of the Skraelings?

It was tempting to march through the night. Isaiah knew he could not do that, but they camped late, resting uneasily, and Isaiah meant to push on well before dawn the next day.

That night, he quadrupled the sentries, and bade all who slept to keep their swords unsheathed at their sides.

To the south the Skraelings surged forward, intent on their purpose. They were to get to Elcho Falling and they were to eat everything in their path.

The One had instructed them, and they were as one with the One. They could feel his presence, strong and powerful, and they knew what they had to do.

Get to Elcho Falling. Eat anything in their way.

The instructions were simple enough, even for Skraelings.

There was something up ahead, they could smell it. A ma.s.s of men, trying to flee. They could smell the stink of fear.

The Skraelings smiled as they ran.

They would catch this great ma.s.s of men soon, and then life would be good.

Chapter 20.

Isembaard.

Ishbel and Maximilian sat alone among the reeds on the eastern side of what had once been the River Lhyl. It was dusk. They had moved here in the late afternoon, not caring that DarkGla.s.s Mountain's shadow tracked them the entire way.

The pyramid knew they were here. There was no point in hiding.

For a long time they had been silent. They had held hands, leaned close to each other, occasionally kissed.

”Ishbel --”

”Don't say it, Maxel.”

”Ishbel, you found the unwinding of the Weeper difficult. What you face here is so infinitely worse.”

”I don't have Ravenna here to try and murder me on the way in.”

”What you do have is --”

”Infinitely worse, I know. But I have more power now and, I think, a few more friends. And this guardian, about whom Avaldamon is so mysterious.”

”Likely because he has no b.l.o.o.d.y idea.”

Ishbel laughed. ”Likely. But still, this needs to be done, Maxel. The pyramid must die, if this world is to survive in anything resembling freedom. We need to be rid of it.”

Maximilian sighed. ”Ishbel --”

”Shush,” she said, and leaned over to kiss him lingeringly. ”Shush. Wait here for me among the reeds, and believe, and I will return.”

The One strode toward DarkGla.s.s Mountain. He was not far away now, but he feared even that short distance might be too great.

Elcho Falling was at DarkGla.s.s Mountain.

”I am going to eat you!” he whispered, increasing yet again both the rate and length of his step until he was jogging in long, thundering strides.

The One was half the height of DarkGla.s.s Mountain itself, and growing a hand's-breadth with every pace.

Ishbel walked across the gla.s.s river, her strides slow but sure. The light breeze lifted her loosened fair hair and twisted her long skirts about her legs, but Ishbel paid no mind.

Her eyes were fixed on the pyramid.

It took her until almost full dark to walk along the causeway to the pyramid, and in that time light started to flash and fork underneath its gla.s.s skin. The static electricity raised gooseb.u.mps on Ishbel's arms, but she did not hesitate, nor lower her eyes from DarkGla.s.s Mountain.

She was concentrating, very hard, on something the Goblet of the Frogs had told her.

Gla.s.s is liquid.

Gla.s.s is liquid. As she drew to within twenty paces of its eastern wall, the pyramid looming and throbbing high over her, Ishbel began a great unwinding.

Pace after pace she drew closer, then, ignoring the gaping black hole of the door she and Isaiah had once used to enter, and without any hesitation, Ishbel walked straight into the gla.s.s wall.

And vanished.

The One broke into a run, his mighty arms pumping at his sides, his eyes fixed on the horizon, over which, just over, lay his purpose.