The Warslayer(25)

"Are we there yet?" she called to Belegir.

"Soon, I hope," was the less than reassuring answer.

It was okay while they were still riding among the scattered birches—the road vanished beneath drifts of golden leaves, and Glory no longer knew whether they were following it or not—but when birch gave way to pine, the sun-drenched gold gave way to cool blue shadows. As soon as the sun dropped behind the Hilvorn Peaks, it would be dark. In direct sunlight, her chrome-and-black-leather costume had been almost too hot to touch, but now the metal was only barely warm, and she was starting to feel chilly again. Freeze or fry, it's always the way.

"Say, Belegir, what have you got round here that comes out at night? You've got sheep, you must have something that eats sheep."

"Wolves, of course, and in these dark times, dogs that have lost their masters. If it has been a long winter, sometimes bears will come down off the mountain, but only in spring, when they are hungry. The rock-cats do not bother the herds, unless they think they may take a lamb or kid easily. It is fall, so I do not think we need fear for the horses, even here, and besides, Kurfan will warn us should anything draw near."

Glory glanced over her shoulder, and saw the shadowy shape plodding along at Marchiel's heels. The dog's eyes flashed silvery-red in the dimness.

"What about dragons, then?" she asked. Or bandits, outlaws, that kind of thing? Except I'm betting you don't have any of those here in the worker's paradise, do you? Not going by what Englor was saying earlier.

Surprisingly, Belegir laughed.

"Slayer, dragons belong to the Age of Legend, when Cinnas walked the earth! You need not fear meeting such creatures today."

But how do you KNOW? she wondered. Helevrin had said that none of the Allimir had ever actually seen the monster that had driven them out of their homes and was slowly killing them, only its effects. Now she'd seen some of those effects, too, and she had to admit they were pretty daunting. But couldn't there be another explanation—or a whole collection of other explanations—than a demon out of legend? Maybe a dragon, and a few volcanoes, some plague, and . . .

You're guessing, gel. But here in the woods in the dark was no place to be asking—just in case Belegir was right, and there was a Warmother. But sooner or later they were going to have to have a nice long chat about Her, and what she was, and what she could do—why the Allimir feared her, and why this Cinnas had locked her up in the first place.

And what I can do about it. Just to add a little farce to the mix.

But maybe it IS a dragon. The thought made her feel better. A dragon was just another predator, and she'd seen today that the Allimir could fight back against predators. If she could prove to Belegir that it was just a dragon, then the Allimir could—

"Just" a dragon? Just a DRAGON? Are you listening to yourself, Gloria Emmeline McArdle?

"Yeah, right," she muttered under her breath. "A dragon. Easy money."





CHAPTER THREE:

Iron and Fire

First it was gloomy under the pines, then it was dark. Then it was really dark, as the last of the light faded from the sky. We were supposed to be there by now. They stopped to remove the reins from the riding ponies and to link the three horses together with a coil of rope taken from the pack-pony, then led them all along on foot. Belegir had taken a crystal from his pocket at the stop. It glowed with an intense purple light, enough to show them the upward-slanting track through the pines.

Enough to bring any monsters interested in a hero snack running. Glory drew her sword and walked with it in her hand, not feeling stupid about it at all. Every sound seemed unbearably, pointedly loud, from the scuffing of their steps through the leaves and twigs of the forest floor to the unearthly cries of hunting owls. Kurfan walked close at Belegir's side, ears cocked alertly.

"There," Belegir said, pointing.

Glory looked, and for a moment saw nothing. Then Belegir raised the crystal in his hand higher, illuminating a sheer wall of rock, and the pitch-dark opening of a narrow cave.

"This is it?" Glory said, torn between relief and disappointment. From the way Belegir had talked about the Oracle of Erchane, she'd expected something fancier than a hole in the wall.

"Yes. Hurry."

She needed no more encouragement. Belegir's tension was catching. Kurfan bounded ahead, disappearing through the cut in the rock. The ponies lugged forward as though they scented home and mother, breaking free of Belegir and scrambling up the last sharp incline into the cave, still roped loosely together, followed closely by Glory and Belegir.

She was relieved to see that the cave was tall enough inside that she could easily stand upright, as well as wide enough that she could shoulder past the ponies to look around. It looked pretty much like a natural cave to her, maybe the kind that had gotten a little primitive help. The walls were smooth and cool; the floor, when she scraped the leaves aside with the tip of her sword, was hard rock beneath wind-blown detritus, all illuminated by the weird black-light glow of Belegir's crystal. It seemed to go on for some distance—at least, she couldn't see the far end.