Part 7 (1/2)

The darsteed swung around to face the approaching hurlhound, its powerful body quivering eagerly.

Tobeszijian's mind sifted rapidly through a dozen possibilities. He had to think of a refuge for the children outside of Nether, and he had only seconds to make a decision. They must be hidden with someone trustworthy enough not to sell them as hostages to a foreign enemy, or even to Muncel. But as a wheeling series of faces belonging to the handful of n.o.bles in Mandria or to the one-eyed chieftain in Klad whom he'd bribed into being a secret ally crossed his mind, Tobeszijian knew that none of them were right. He knew, too, that he could not afford to make a mistake now; he had only a single trip with the Ring remaining to him.

The hurlhound was still cras.h.i.+ng down the hillside, so close now he could hear it snarling and snapping.

And at that moment, a second one burst from the thicket on his left and charged straight toward him.

Tobeszijian shouted in alarm, but the monster yelped and turned aside at the stream, das.h.i.+ng back andforth as though afraid to leap it.

The hurlhound was a monstrous creature, twice the size of the largest dog in Tobeszijian's kennels, with black, scaled skin instead of hair and a broad, blunt head ending in a powerful muzzle of razor-sharp teeth. Its tongue-glowing with eerie green phosphorus-lolled from its jaws. He could hear the creature panting and whining as it paced back and forth along the narrow stream. Its eyes glowed red, and it stank of rotting flesh, so sickly and foul Tobeszijian thought he would retch.

”Dog!” Faldain announced, pointing.

Thiatereika screamed.

At that instant, the hurlhound leaped across the stream and came bounding straight at them with impossible speed. Reaching them, it jumped up as though to drag Tobeszijian from the saddle.

Tobeszijian swung his sword down in a powerful slash and cut off the hurlhound's head in a clean blow.

Mirengard was glowing with blinding radiance. He could feel the magical power in humming through the bones of his hand. Behind him, the other hurlhound reached the bottom of the hill and came roaring at them. Tobeszijian swung the darsteed around to face its oncoming charge, but at that moment the king made his decision.

Gazing at his glowing sword, he thought of the only sword-maker he knew capable of producing something similar to the legendary Mirengard. Jerking off his glove with his teeth, Tobeszijian let the hurlhound keep coming and concentrated all his heart and mind on his glowing Ring. Its light shone over the pawing darsteed and Tobeszijian's children. To Jorb, the dwarf of Nold, he thought. To Jorb!

The hurlhound reached them, leaping high. Its cavernous jaws opened wide, revealing its glowing teeth and venomous tongue. Its eyes shone red with the fires of h.e.l.l, and its stink rolled over Tobeszijian like death itself. But he pushed his fear aside. He held his ground while his children screamed and struggled against the iron band of his protecting arm. Then the power came, tossing them up into the very air. The hurlhound was knocked aside with a yelp, and they were swept into the second world yet again. Nold was a forbidding, unwelcoming country, damp and cold, and it was still tainted by the residue of magic cast in the mighty battles of antiquity. Spa.r.s.ely settled, most of the land was choked with the Dark Forest-woods so thick no decent road could be built through them. Instead, muddy trails wound through the trees, trails that might take a weary traveler to a settlement or might stop in the midst of nowhere.

It was afternoon, and Tobeszijian rode along such a trail, trying hard to keep his sense of direction despite the weariness buzzing inside his head. The darsteed was limping badly. Moaning and snorting, the animal hobbled along stiffly, its wound still oozing and raw.

Every time Tobeszijian tried to dismount to spare it, however, the creature attacked him.

He rode it grimly, forcing it to give him the very last of its strength. When it finally went down, he would have to cut its throat and walk to the next settlement. If he could not buy a decent horse, it would be a long trudge indeed all the way home to Nether.

He sighed, feeling bereft without the children snuggled beneath his cloak. Again and again, his mind conjured up his last sight of their bewildered, tear-streaked faces while Jorb held their shoulders to keep them from running after their father. Tobeszijian frowned. He could not feel easy about leaving them behind. They had no protectors, no guards, no retainers. Even were he gone a month or two-and certainly it would be no more than that-it was an enormous risk to leave them in the sole care of a near stranger. Tobeszijian knew Jorb on a business footing only. The dwarf was a master armorer, and was known for the fine swords he crafted.

Twice Tobeszijian had commissioned him to make armor and daggers for him. Jorb coveted Mirengard.

Whenever he talked to Tobeszijian, his gaze would stray to the sword, and his thick fingers-strong enough to crack walnuts-would flex and stretch as though they ached to slide along that s.h.i.+ning blade.

Like all dwarves, Jorb was temperamental and sly. He struck hard bargains, but once a dwarf actually gave his word, he would stay true to it. Jorb had demanded Mirengard in exchange for hiding the children.

It was an impossible bargain. Tobeszijian could not hold his throne without the sword, and Jorb knew that. The dwarf had used his unreasonable demand to leverage a fat purse of gold, the jeweled ring from Tobeszijian's smallest finger, his silver spurs, and the cups of eldin silver belonging to the children.

Clutching his booty and chuckling to himself, the dwarf had ducked his bearded chin low and scuttled back into his queer hut built in the base of a vast tree trunk, with a stone-lined entry and an iron-banded door. Smoke curled out through a hollow limb overhead, making the tree almost look like it was on fire.

Jorb popped outside a few minutes later and gestured. ”Well, bring 'em in. Bring 'em in!” he said.

There had been time only for a swift glance round at the cramped interior. It was swept clean, with every humble possession in its proper place. Tobeszijian knew that Jorb was accounted to be rich and prosperous, as he was much in demand for his skills at the forge. No doubt the dwarf kept his gold strongboxes and treasures down deep in the ground, concealed in mysterious tunnels and burrows. Still, the place was far from suitable for the children of a king. With the blessing of Thod, perhaps they would not have to stay hidden here long. Tobeszijian had ridden away this morning with the cries of Faldain and Thiatereika echoing in his ears. He knew he must set his face toward war, yet he felt unmanned and guilty. He despaired of ever being reunited with his children. Soon, my precious ones, he'd promised them silently. Soon I shall return for you.

Thiatereika had run down the road in his darsteed's wake, crying out, ”My papa, come back! My papa!

My papa!”

The heartbreak and terror in her voice had nearly destroyed all his resolve. Although he'd intended to turn around and wave, he kept his back to her, hearing her voice growing fainter and fainter as he kicked the darsteed into a gallop. They were safe, he told himself for the countless time.

Hidden and safe.

He wanted to feel relief, but instead his sense of uneasiness grew. Nereisse would have condemned him for leaving them behind, unguarded, in the hands of one who owed him no allegiance. It seemed that her spirit, cold with disapproval, perched on his shoulder.

”What else could I do?” he asked aloud.

Tipping back his head, he stared at the overcast sky. The clouds were ma.s.sed and dark above the thick treetops. He s.h.i.+vered under his cloak. He felt as though he had somehow failed. And with that came a boiling surge of anger against Nereisse, who had left him to face these difficulties alone. What right had she to risk her life by knowingly drawing poison into her body to save her daughter? What right had she to take herself from him, just when he needed her most? They could have had another daughter, could have faced the future together, could have ... Gripping his hair in his fist, he cried out, making an animal sound of sheer anguish.

He did not understand himself. His fury and resentment bewildered him, and he felt guilty, as though he had somehow betrayed his dead wife by feeling this way. He loved her. He had been enspelled by her from the first moment he glimpsed her in the forest. As for weighing the value of Nereisse's life against Thiatereika's ... what was wrong with him? Could he resent his own daughter for having lived at the cost of her mother's life?

Was that why he found it so easy to abandon his children in this dark, primitive land?

Fearing that some madness was trying to break his mind, he turned his thoughts toward his next responsibilities. He must work quickly to raise an army and crush Muncel's rebellion. If he didn't return to Nether soon and force his n.o.bles and knights to honor their oaths to him, then he might as well stay here in the forests of Nold, an exile forever. He would not seek a.s.sistance from Verence of Mandria yet.

Thus far, Verence had proven to be a sound ally, but it was best to handle civil war without the help of neighboring lands, which might decide to conquer rather than a.s.sist.

The sky overhead stayed gray and tired. Now and then rain drizzled on him. He brushed past leafy branches and ducked beneath loops of gnarled vines. Keebacks wheeled overhead in the sky, making their plaintive cry. He encountered no other travelers, except once, a group of five dwarves clad in green linsey. Stocky and round-cheeked, their beards woolly and matted, they were each burdened with bulky sacks thrown across their shoulders, sacks heavy enough to bend them double. Their furtive eyes glared at Tobeszijian, then they scattered off the road and into the forest, giving him no chance to ask how far it was to the next settlement.

If he could find a village, he would trade his cloak pin for a horse or even a mule, and set the darsteed loose.

He touched his mind to the beast's, trying to urge it, but the darsteed was too filled with pain and fury to go faster.

A keeback burst from the trees ahead of him, calling kee-kee-kee. A stag bounded into the road, stared at him with startled eyes, and leaped back into the thicket in a panic. The darsteed stumbled to a halt unbidden, and let its head sink down. Frowning, Tobeszijian kicked it hard, but it only groaned. He sat there in the saddle, tired and cold and wet, and knew he had pushed it all he could. Its wound was not fatal, but the beast needed rest and care to mend. Tobeszijian had time for neither. He could not set the creature free in these woods, where it would hunt and attack man, dwarf, or creature alike. Which meant he would have to kill it.

”Not yet,” he said through his teeth, thinking of the long walk ahead of him. A king afoot in a foreign land? It was a mockery.

Again he urged the darsteed forward, but it stood there with its snout on the ground and would not respond.

Fury and frustration choked Tobeszijian. He knew he had only himself to blame for the darsteed's injury.

Tilting back his head, Tobeszijian lifted his fist to the sky. If only he'd used the Ring to go north to Prince Volvn's stronghold as he'd first intended. If only he hadn't been warned not to take the children back into Nether. It was unfair of the G.o.ds to set so strict a limitation on the use of the Ring. Only three tries?

When there was need of more? ”d.a.m.n you!” he shouted. Drawing his sword, he whacked thedarsteed's rump with the flat of his blade.

It hissed and whipped its head around defiantly, but took no step forward. Again he struck it, shouting curses and wis.h.i.+ng he had not let Jorb talk him out of his spurs, but all his efforts to urge the creature on were for naught. The darsteed instead sank to its knees.

Tobeszijian twisted around in the saddle and started to dismount. But at that moment he heard a sudden pop of sound, and a creature black and hairy materialized from thin air to stand directly in his path. It was half the size of the darsteed, and so lean it seemed almost flat when it turned to the side. A stench of sulfur hung on its fur, and its bony head turned on a long, sinuous neck to bare multiple rows of savage teeth at Tobeszijian. The darsteed bellowed and reared up with an awkward lunge, nearly unseating its rider. Furious at himself for being caught off guard, Tobeszijian had only a second to wonder why his senses had not warned him a Nonkind was this close before the sylith leaped forward.

As the darsteed lashed out with its sharp hooves and the sylith dodged with a snarl, Tobeszijian drew Mirengard. In the presence of Nonkind its blade glowed as white as the purest flame.

Swinging aloft, Tobeszijian fought to control the darsteed and managed to pivot his mount around just as the sylith sprang up at him. Tobeszijian's blade sliced cleanly through the sylith's thin neck, dropping its head to the ground with a spurt of acidic blood that splattered and steamed in the cold air. He smelled the dreadful decayed stench of it and tried desperately to breathe through his mouth.

The headless body of the monster staggered about, refusing to topple. Bugling a challenge, the darsteed brought its sharp hooves down upon the sylith's head, crus.h.i.+ng it. Snorting flame, the darsteed set the sylith's narrow body afire. A shriek rent the air, fading into the ether as the sylith finally died. Its charred body crashed to the ground and lay still. The reek of burned flesh filled the air.

Mirengard glowed even brighter, and the sword's power flowed down its blade, dripping off the tip and cleansing the foul blood away. Tiny silver puddles s.h.i.+mmered on the trampled ground, and green vines sprouted there, unfurling new leaves despite the frost-laden air. In less than a day the vines would grow over the sylith's charred corpse and conceal it as though it had never been there. Continuing down his road, Tobeszijian drew in a few deep breaths and wondered what had made the monster attack him alone. Syliths seldom hunted singly. Another one was bound to be nearby. He lifted his face to the damp breeze, questing, but sensed nothing. A s.h.i.+ver moved down his spine, and he kept Mirengard gripped in his hand instead of sheathing it. Snorting little spurts of flame, its eyes glowing red, its tail las.h.i.+ng viciously behind it, the darsteed trotted a few steps, restive and fiery, before it began to limp again.

Tobeszijian kept it going. Settling himself deeper in the saddle, he maintained a wary lookout. He smelled nothing other than the darsteed's lathered sweat, damp soil, and the half-rotted leaves of the forest, yet he stayed tense and ready.