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  "Each to his fate," Rell murmured, adding a gentle smile.

  "Each to his fate. Yours to stay, mine to go on. If not for Lyssa I'd be tempted to give up. But while she suffers, I suffer."

  "Not to waste any more time, then," Rell advised him. He nodded toward the open end of the canyon. "Your way is clear, as is mine."

  Colwyn nodded, urged his mount toward the opening. The others followed, still settling themselves on their strange but willing mounts, talking steadily to them to show they meant no harm. Torquil rode alongside Colwyn. As they passed Rell, he glanced curiously from the unmounted cyclops to Colwyn, who said nothing but explained all with a single, eloquent shake of his head.

  Rell turned and walked over to where Titch stood watching Kegan secure his own mount. He came up behind the boy and lifted him easily up behind the man. Titch turned to say something, then caught the look in the Cyclops's eye. Life with the seer had made the boy perceptive as well as quiet. In that single glance he saw what awaited his great friend, and how near at hand it lay. For a boy he was very strong. There were not many tears.

  That single eye produced only one. Gently Rell backed off.

  Kegan watched curiously, said nothing until Rell had moved away. "He's not coming with us?"

  "It is his time to die," Titch said softly.

  Kegan was a practical man, not a diplomat. "We'll miss his help. If he's going to die anyway, why doesn't he come with us?"

  "No. He must stay here and accept his fate. If he opposes it in any way, he will bring great pain on himself."

  Kegan shrugged, urged his fire-mare forward. "A strange way to live. A stranger way to die. Be thankful, boy, we were given two eyes instead of one."

  Ergo rode last in line and was quick to note the exchange. He turned in his saddle. "Rell!"

  "I must stay here, my magnificent friend. You and Titch have already realized your wishes. Soon I will realize mine."

  Ergo reined his mount in. "We had no time to be friends. I mistrusted you when I first met you."

  "And I was equally unsure of you," Rell replied.

  "No time. Never enough time, it seems. I wish . . ." He shrugged helplessly. "Good-bye, friend."

  "Farewell, Ergo. There was time enough for friendship. Go now without looking back. There'll be nothing to see."

  But Ergo could not help looking back. Rell stood staring after the departing troupe, solid as the rock walls that enclosed him, until they swallowed him up.

  Colwyn kept the pace easy until they were clear of the canyons. Ahead lay the southern plain and beyond, where the grass rusted, the Iron Desert. And Lyssa. Thoughts of her freshened his resolve. They had a long way to go.

  Kicking his mount's flanks as hard as he could, he chucked the reins and let out a shout. The mare started, reared, then let herself go. The breeze in Colwyn's face became a gale, then a hurricane. Soon he was no longer riding, he was holding on for his life.

  Behind him he heard yells and cries as his companions urged their steeds to keep pace. Hazarding a glance backward, he saw the frightened faces of his men hugging tight to massive necks, saw whitened fingers clutched convulsively around taut reins. Below the men were pounding, wondrous bodies, and between them and the earth were only blurs riding streaks of fire.

  Carefully he sat up in the saddle and squinted into the wind. At this pace they might indeed reach the Iron Desert in time.

  It had been a slow week and the boatman was hungry for a little business. He scratched at himself as he emerged from his hut, tugging at his jacket and grumbling at the lateness of the hour. Now, what fools would come atraveling this time of morning, when the moon insisted it was still night, no matter what the clock might say?

  Well, they'd pay and pay plenty for disturbing him at such an unholy hour. Automatically he looked to his right. His ferry bobbed lazily at anchor, ready for the next crossing.

  "Oh, you'll pay dearly for this boatride, gentlemen, whoever you are. And if you're nobles you'll pay in gold or get yourselves wet!"

  Odd. Beneath the rumble of approaching hooves he thought he detected a faint hissing sound, like a kettle boiling over on a stove. Distant lightning, perhaps. At least it sounded like a large party. The night should prove profitable. If he felt like it and they were desperate enough to cross, he might make them pay for the whole week.

  Suddenly he was fully awake and his eyes bugged as he saw the fire coming toward him. He looked wildly from right to left and finally threw himself onto the riverbank, hardly daring to look up.

  But there was no explosion of water from riders plunging into the river. He gaped upward as the horses, trailing flame from their hooves, cleared the river in a single awesome bound to land safe and dry on the far shore. In another instant they were gone.

  "Was that a dream?" he mumbled aloud. Nay, it was as real as the mud caking his face and clothes. He picked at it as he sat up and stared across the river. Before long his earlier mood had returned. Not only had he lost his expected customers, now he would have to pay some old woman in the village to clean his working clothes.

  "And I'd have settled for a little silver," he groused as he staggered back into his hut.

  XII

  Hearts pounded uneasily as the fire-mares drove their tireless way across the plains, particularly when they leaped a certain deep gorge no normal horse could have negotiated in three jumps. Confident and powerful they might be, but a man could only handle so much magic in one night. At least no one was in any danger of falling asleep in his saddle. Terror is a wonderful stimulant.

  They'd reached the desert by the time the sun showed itself above the horizon. Red sand and gravel exploded beneath fiery hooves as the mares, seemingly as fresh as they'd been back in the canyon where they'd been saddled, thundered onward at Colwyn's urging. Strange green and brown plants appeared, causing those men with any strength to spare to wonder at their eerie shapes and absence of leaves.

  Soon Colwyn was forced to slow. They were approaching a mountain. The mountain had regular sides and peculiar over-hangs, and projections. In the rising suns it shone a dull black.

  Torquil reined in beside him and Colwyn pointed with his right hand. "There it is. I'd not thought to see such a thing. When this day is done, maybe we'll never have to see it again."

  The Black Fortress towered before them, rising windowless and cold from the desert floor. Beneath, the ground had been permanently altered. Now it would do the same to the lives of the men who sat staring at it.

  "Yes, there it is," Torquil muttered as he gazed at the alien monolith, "and none but us madmen would want to get this close to it."

  There was no mistaking the resolve in Colwyn's voice. Knowing that at last they sat in sight of Lyssa's prison had revitalized him.

  "We're going to get a lot closer to it. Closer than even madmen dream of getting." He glanced at the sky. "And quickly. It's almost sunrise." He led the charge toward the Fortress.

  They spread out, combing the slick surface, having trouble keeping their footing on the glassy substance. Colwyn couldn't help but admire the construction. It was as smooth as the blade of a good sword and showed little sign of wear.

  "Solid rock," Torquil groused, "or solid something, anyway. Might as well be rock. Not even a crack where an ant could force an entry. And steep enough to give a mountain goat pause." He eyed Colwyn, his gaze dropping significantly to the glaive slung at the prince's belt. Colwyn noted the glance and his hand went to the weapon. For a moment he considered using it.

  Then he loosened his grip and shook his head. "No, not yet. It's not the right time. Ynyr warned me not to waste its power."

  "You'll have no chance to use it if we can't get inside."

  "We'll get in," Colwyn assured him. "We haven't come this far to be stopped at the last moment by the absence of a door."

  "How will we get in? Even if we can find a door, what makes you think it will open from the outside?"

  "We must find a door." He looked upward at the t
owering walls that rose toward the rapidly lightening sky. "And soon."

  "Colwyn, watch out!" Oswyn yelled.

  Above, a gap had opened in the side of the Fortress. Colwyn ducked just in time to avoid a blast of energy from the spear of a white Slayer. Other bursts struck all around him. Torquil huddled behind a dark protrusion. If they could just get within ax range of the Slayer . . .

  Then another portal opened where none existed a moment before, and still another. The Slayers would step into the opening and attack, then retreat to the safety of the Fortress's innards. On open ground the men would have charged, but here they could barely cling like lice to the steep side of the Fortress.

  Colwyn leaned out, tried to locate the nearest opening. "We've got to get inside!" he muttered loudly. He waited until the Slayer stationed above had used his spear and withdrawn, then started upward.

  But another appeared farther to the left and sent a stream of death toward Colwyn. He ducked, and lost his footing on the slick surface.

  "Colwyn!" Torquil yelled. He reached out, and a blast of fire from above nearly severed his arm at the shoulder.

  But a thick-fingered, powerful hand had Colwyn by the shirt, pulling him to safety. An instant later the stocky, slow-witted thief staggered as he took the full force of a Slayer's spear.

  "Rhun!" Colwyn shouted. Quickly he pulled the wounded man to shelter . . . too late. "Rhun. A foolish act for a man who thought this adventure useless."

  The heavyset thief was breathing hard. He looked up at Colwyn, too stunned to feel the pain. "I was wrong. The journey was worthwhile. Finish it for me."

  His eyes closed and there was no more hard breathing. Torquil had worked his way across to squat alongside. "A brave man, good fighter. A little slow up here"—he tapped his head—"a lot bigger down here." His fingers touched his chest.

  Gently Colwyn set him aside, his teeth clenched in anger and frustration as he looked upward. "We can't sit here like this. We have to charge them."

  Torquil shook his head. "They'll pick us off as soon as we stand. We have to keep to cover or we'll end up like Rhun."

  "We've no choice." Colwyn pointed skyward. "Soon the Fortress will move. If we're trapped out here when that happens we'll probably die anyway."

  Again Torquil's gaze fell to the glaive secured at Colwyn's belt. It wasn't time, Colwyn knew. It wasn't time. But they were running out of options. His hand dropped to the ancient weapon, felt of the cold metal, the power there.

  "Wait," Torquil told him. He was looking out across the plain, back the way they'd come, away from the Fortress. "Look there."

  A line of smoke and fire was coming toward them. Colwyn frowned. Slayers coming to trap them? He squinted in the still uncertain light. But it was Ergo who first made out the strange trident outlined against the Eastern horizon.

  "Rell!" He stood up, nearly lost his thoughtless head to a Slayer spear.

  "Stay down!" Colwyn ordered him. He sat and stared in wonder as the cyclops reined in at the base of the Fortress and began climbing toward them. The giant did not speak, did not pause, but continued climbing past the pinioned men, toward the first of the openings in the Fortress wall.

  A burst from a spear struck him, then a second. He shook but never slowed, staggered slightly but did not loose his grip.

  "He's shielding us," Torquil murmured, watching in admiration as the cyclops continued his relentless climb.

  Colwyn stood. "Follow him! For your lives!"

  Rell was at the entrance to the Fortress now. Another burst from a spear struck him even as he lowered the massive trident and charged forward. The nearest Slayer hardly had time to scream as it died a tri-pronged death.

  There was a new sound, a slow ponderous rumbling from somewhere within. The entrance began to close around Rell. Arms the size of small trees shot sideways. Even Rell could not stop the walls from closing, but he slowed them, even as fresh Slayers appeared to strike him again and again.

  Torquil and Kegan were the first to slip inside beneath those straining arms, and the two Slayers perished under their weapons. The others followed, with Colwyn the last inside.

  But while the walls still stood far enough apart to admit a normal man, they had closed too tightly for Rell to escape. He stood straining, but his strength was at an end.

  "Torquil!" Colwyn shouted. "Brace your ax in the opening!"

  The thief tried, but the blade twisted and groaned against the walls. "No good . . . there isn't enough room to get the blade in sideways."

  "No use," said Rell. "This is my time. Remember, Colwyn. Each to his fate."

  The last of his strength vanished and as it did so, the walls closed in on him with a rush. Colwyn and Torquil backed away, staring, helpless.

  Behind them the others were also watching, but Titch was the only one who spoke. "He opposed it, and he died in great pain, just as he said would happen. I wish I could be so brave."

  "So do we all," said Ergo, putting an arm around the boy. "But we're all not like Rell."

  Fire exploded behind them and they rushed to deal with the fresh group of Slayers who appeared in the corridor beyond. There was no more time for regrets, nor would Rell have wanted them.

  Ahead, the corridor suddenly opened into a vast chamber. Beyond lay a narrow bridge guarded by Slayers. Ignoring the abyss beneath, the men rushed onward. One caught a blast in the chest and died long before he reached the bottom of the chasm. But they cleared the far end of the bridge, only to find themselves slowing as they entered still another passageway. A few steps farther brought them to an intersection.

  Torquil looked right, then left. The side corridor was indistinguishable from the one they were in.

  "Which way? Both look alike to me."

  Colwyn took a step forward. "Straight on, as we've been going."

  "How do you know that's right?" Bardolph frowned at the juncture. "How can you tell direction in this place? There's nothing to judge by."

  Colwyn didn't hesitate, stepped confidently forward. "I don't know how I know, but I know." He nodded ahead. "It's this way."

  "Then perhaps we should go another way," Ergo put in, but his jest passed unappreciated. No one was in a very jocular mood.

  Concentrating on the path ahead, none thought to check the small side recesses that pockmarked the tunnel. So no one saw the Slayer that stepped out of the darkness to heave a spear at Torquil's back. No one except Kegan, who moved fast while trying to shout a warning.

  "Torquil! Look ou—!"

  The spear took him in the side and the Slayer came after it. Oswyn cut him down, continuing to hack at the motionless body long after the life had fled from it.

  Torquil bent over the wounded Kegan, inspecting the injury. Bitterly he saw there was no reason to remove the spear.

  "That was stupid," he said through clenched teeth.

  "I . . . I agree," Kegan said dully. "Looks like my traveling days are over, my friend." His back arched spasmodically, his eyes wide. "That hurts. A just end to a frivolous life, though I wish it had come outside under the clean sky. This is no place to be buried."

  "Don't worry," Torquil muttered. "We'll get you out of here."

  "Doesn't matter. Don't waste the time. Here's where I fell and I guess here's where I'll stay. Tell . . . tell Merith I loved her. Tell her she was my favorite. And tell Lona I loved her, and she was my favorite." He winced, then the old smile returned. "You understand."

  Torquil nodded. "I understand."

  A little sigh escaped Kegan's lips. "I did love them all, you know." A second sigh, then stillness.

  "I know," Torquil said softly. Gently he passed a hand over the staring eyes, closing them. Better a good man should look inward for eternity than at the walls enclosing them.

  Colwyn stood silently behind the bandit leader. It was not his place to comment.

  Finally Torquil stood. His expression was grim, resolved. "He knew the risks and accepted them of his own free will. So do we. So do we all."


  "A few must die so that many may live," said Oswyn. "The old man said that one night. I heard him, but I never thought I'd find myself agreeing with him,"

  "If we are those few . . ." Bardolph began.

  "Then so be it," Ergo finished for him. Besides, he told himself resignedly, we are committed. But somehow the sarcasm rang hollow. A vague sense of purpose had driven them to accompany Colwyn on his quest. Now something powerful gripped them all, even he who'd never been one to volunteer for desperate causes. Kegan's death underlined what they'd already accomplished, as well as hinting at what they might yet achieve.

  Glory and greatness are such abstracts, Ergo mused, until circumstances make them real.

  "Lead on," Torquil told his king.

  No more deadly surprises waited to greet them. No matter how brightly lit or inviting the intersecting corridors appeared, none swayed Colwyn from his chosen course.

  So intent were they on the dangers that might assail them from the side or above, however, that no one noticed the hairline crack in the floor ahead.

  It opened noisily and fast, the sound warning them barely in time. Whether their footsteps or an unseen hand had triggered it, none could say. Not that it mattered. The slick, rounded corridor sent them tumbling downward, scrambling for a handhold.

  Torquil, Colwyn, and Bardolph barely managed to hold on to the edge of the opening. Colwyn was the first back on his feet, followed by the agile Oswyn, with Torquil a step behind. Together they helped the frantic Bardolph, then all turned to peer into the narrow gap.

  There was light below, and not far below, at that.

  "Ergo! Titch!" Colwyn shouted downward.

  Below, Ergo was already examining their prison. Titch had landed hard and was a little slower to rise. The light was dimmer than in the corridor above, but they could still see clearly.

  "We're here," Ergo replied.

  "All right?"

  "Except for bruises and bumps." He glanced over at Titch. The boy nodded once as he gingerly felt of his backside. "I'd guess we're about ten feet below you." He examined the smooth, curving walls. "I can't find a handhold big enough for a gnat. We're in another tunnel. It's very narrow."