Beyond the High Road

10

By the time they ducked into the small canyon, the sun had risen a full span above the horizon. The terrain in the gorge was even more barren than that of the stony plain, consisting of little more than eroded dirt walls and a lonely scrub bush every ten or twelve paces. They stopped about thirty paces in to let their weary mounts drink from a muddy spring, and Vangerdahast crept back to the canyon mouth to watch for the ghazneth. It was not long before he saw a dark pair of wings swoop in from the west, then circle through smoke rising from his wall of flame and fly off in the direction his decoy had fled.

Vangerdahast waited until he was certain the thing was gone, then rushed up the canyon at his best waddle. “Time to go. We have about five minutes before our dank friend discovers my trick.”

Rowen passed Cadimus’s reins to the wizard and turned back toward Tanalasta’s mount.

“Ahem-as much as I’m sure you enjoy sharing a saddle with the princess, young man, Cadimus is twice the mount she’s riding.” Vangerdahast mounted and offered the ranger his hand. “We’ll all be faster if you ride with me.”

“A good point.”

Rowen turned and reached for the wizard’s hand, but Tanalasta was already swinging out of her own saddle.

“It will be even faster if we switch horses.” The princess reached up and patted Vangerdahast’s ample belly. “Rowen and I together can’t be much more than you alone. You take my mane, and let poor Cadimus carry us.”

“A fine idea,” the wizard replied, “but you know how temperamental-“

“Cadimus is more of a coward, actually,” said Tanalasta. “I had no trouble controlling him back at the Stonebolt Trail-or have you forgotten who returned him to you?”

“Very well,” Vangerdahast grumbled. “I can’t have you arguing the matter until the ghazneth finds us.”

They switched horses and started up the canyon again. Vangerdahast tried at first to keep a careful watch on the northern sky, but quickly realized the futility of that as they twisted and turned through the labyrinth. He could not imagine how Rowen could know where they were going. The ranger kept turning down narrow side canyons, which would double back in the direction from which they had just come, then double back again and angle off in some new direction that was impossible to guess. For a while, Vangerdahast thought the ranger was following his own tracks or a system of cairns, but when he dared to take his eyes off the sky, he saw no sign of either.

After nearly two hours of riding, the canyon opened up into a broad, flat-bottomed basin ringed by more than a dozen cramped gorges. The trio paused without dismounting and allowed their horses to drink from another pool of muddy water. Vangerdahast found the sun in the sky and was finally able to determine his bearings, for all the good it would do him.

“Rowen, how do you know which way to go?” he asked. “I can’t even keep track of my directions.”

“You mean there’s one trick the Royal Magician doesn’t know?” Tanalasta joked. “I’m not so sure we should tell.”

“There are a lot of tricks I don’t know,” said Vangerdahast, “and you are teaching me more all the time.”

“This one is not so difficult.” Rowen passed Vangerdahast a small flat stick with notches carved at various angles along both edges and explained, “It’s a map stick. You keep track of your turns-“

“By the notches on each side,” Vangerdahast said, examining the stick. “And the angle confirms that you’re on count.”

“Very good,” laughed Tanalasta. “We’ll make a forest-keeper out of you yet.”

Vangerdahast eyed her sourly, then passed the stick back to Rowen. “When you have magic, you don’t need sticks.”

“Except when you can’t use magic,” Tanalasta replied.

The princess pointed toward the western side of the basin, where a tiny speck of darkness could be seen arcing above the rim. Vangerdahast glanced back along their trail, noting the deep round depressions where their mounts’ hooves had broken through the crust of dried mud.

“Tanalasta,” the royal magician said, “I know I promised not to bring this up again-“

“Then don’t,” the princess interrupted sternly. “I’m not returning to Arabel until I have spoken with Alusair.”

“Hear me out. This thing is dangerous. Let’s gather a few more wizards and dragoneers, then come back.”

“And when the king hears what is happening here and orders you to leave me in Arabel, you will deny him and bring me back?”

“I suppose not, but it was an idea.” The wizard motioned toward the broken ground behind them. “After the ghazneth finds our trail, it won’t take the thing long to find us.”

“Longer than you think,” said Rowen. “These badlands stretch for a hundred miles along the base of the mountains, and the canyons are deep. It isn’t easy to see into them even from the rims-much less high in the sky.”

“I hope you’re right, Rowen,” said Tanalasta, “but Edwin Narlok theorizes in his treatise Falcon Fun that the eyesight of birds of prey is far more acute than our own.”

Rowen looked slightly embarrassed. “I haven’t read that book, but the idea makes sense. Otherwise, it would be pretty difficult to hunt from on high.”

“Of course, the ghazneth is not a bird of prey-“

“But it’s wiser not to take chances.” Vangerdahast took a linen glove from his pocket and folded it into his palm, where he could reach it instantly. “Remind me not to wager with you anymore, Princess.”

Tanalasta narrowed her eyes. “If you even think of-“

“A bet is a bet,” said Vangerdahast. “This is for the ghazneth. When it finds us, blast the thing with everything you have. You need to buy me a little time.”

Tanalasta continued to eye the glove, but nodded. “As you wish.”

She consulted Rowen’s map stick, then led the way around the basin into a cool, shadow-filled canyon suffused with the smell of damp earth. The gorge was as deep as a well and so narrow that Vangerdahast sometimes found his knees brushing both sides at once. Even at its broadest, two horses could not have stood side by side, and it twisted and turned like a snake. The wizard could not recall a worse place to be ambushed, and he kept a constant watch on the crooked slot of sky above.

He saw the ghazneth twice over the next four hours. The first was when he glimpsed a tiny V streaking across the narrow strip of sky ahead of them. It was no larger than his fingernail, and visible for such a short time it could have been a large vulture instead. The second time, the wizard had no such doubts. It appeared over the canyon behind them, large enough now that its wings and body formed a distinct cross, slowly circling and peering down into the labyrinth.

Convinced the phantom had finally found their trail, Vangerdahast suggested again that it might be wise to teleport back to Arabel. Tanalasta’s only reply was to ask him to leave the extra horse, and so they pressed on in silence for the rest of the afternoon. With the sun hidden most of the time behind one canyon rim or the other, it was difficult to mark the passing time, but Vangerdahast was convinced it had to be near evening when the gorge suddenly felt less murky. The walls did not seem to rise quite so high above their heads, and the musty air grew warmer and more arid.

“We’ll leave the badlands soon,” said Rowen, “It’s only a short ride then to where I last saw Alusair.”

“One of the opened tombs?” Tanalasta did not wait for the ranger to answer. “That will be interesting.”

Vangerdahast was about to quote the old aphorism about cats and curiosity when a soft thud sounded next to him. He looked down and saw a two-inch crater in the dried mud, a gleam of gold barely visible in the bottom. The wizard frowned, trying to imagine how a golden coin had come to fall into the canyon-then looked skyward and shouted the alarm.

“Watch your-“

A squarish shape came tumbling down into the canyon and struck him in the chest. The breath huffed out of Vangerdahast’s lungs and his feet flew out of the stirrups. He found himself flat on his back, gasping for air and groaning in agony. The canyon was filled with screaming voices and flashing magic and dancing hooves, and it finally came to him that he was lying on the ground with the battle already raging.

Vangerdahast pushed himself to a sitting position and found a legless, headless torso sprawled across his legs. He shoved the thing away in horror, then recognized the filthy armor as that of the orc he had used as a decoy. In his grogginess, he failed to see any humor in having it returned to him.

A horse hoof came down on Vangerdahast’s ankle. A sobering bolt of pain shot up his leg, and he grabbed a hock and shoved the beast off his throbbing foot. Tanalasta’s voice rang out, trolling the incantation of her one spell, and a flash of golden magic brightened the canyon. Vangerdahast shook his head clear and saw Rowen’s boots dart past on the other side of the horse, and it occurred to the wizard he had better do something before the ghazneth killed them all. He opened his hand to discover that the glove he had been holding was gone.

“Vangerdahast!” cried Tanalasta. “I can’t stall any longer!”

Vangerdahast glanced over and saw Cadimus turned sideways in the canyon, the princess sitting astride his back, pointing up the canyon wall and slapping ineffectually at her wrists. She had already used the bracers to discharge one set of magic bolts and the single combat spell she knew to fire another, and it would be some time before she could attack again. The bracers needed only a few moments to recharge their magic, but in the middle of a battle, a few moments could be a lifetime. The wizard followed the angle of Tanalasta’s arm and finally saw the ghazneth.

Too large by far to fly into the narrow gorge, the thing was climbing down the canyon wall, descending headfirst with its huge wings gathered up alongside its body. It was already halfway down, its white eyes glaring at the canyon floor, where Rowen stood ready to meet it with nothing more than a sword and rust-coated dagger.

This was going to be easier than Vangerdahast thought. He fetched a wad of sticky spider web from his cloak pocket and flicked it in the phantom’s direction, at the same time uttering his incantation. The ghazneth’s head swiveled toward the sound of his voice, then the thing pushed off the canyon wall and dropped, its long-taloned hands already drawing back to rip Rowen open from shoulder to hip. A circle of web blossomed on the wall behind it, burbling out to engulf the phantom up to one knee and bring its dive to an unexpected halt.

Vangerdahast sighed in relief then rolled to his feet and found his glove lying beneath his mount. He plucked it from under the beast’s dancing hooves and shook the dust off, then blew into the collar and whispered his incantation. The fingers wiggled once, then it drifted from his hand and began to float in the air before him. The wizard pulled a vial full of dried fireflies from his pocket and placed one of the tiny insects in the palm of the floating glove.

As Vangerdahast worked, the ghazneth spewed a string of unspeakable curses and beat its wings against the cliffside, trying to knock itself free of the entangling web. When that did not work, it twisted around and curled up toward its feet, drawing its arm back to slash at the web. The filament parted with a low pop, and the phantom came plummeting down the cliff backward. Rowen was on it as soon as it landed, beating aside its arms with two powerful sword strokes, then hurling himself forward to plant his orange dagger deep into its collar.

An unearthly shriek filled the canyon. The ghazneth rolled, slamming its wing into the ranger and launching him up the canyon to crash into Cadimus. Tanalasta and Rowen fell with the beast in a tangled screeching heap, and the phantom rolled to its feet. Though the hole Vangerdahast had blasted in its chest a few days earlier has completely healed, the rusty dagger remained planted firmly in its collar, with gouts of dark blood pumping out around the blade.

Tanalasta’s voice rang through the gorge. “King’s bolts!”

Four golden streaks shot past in front of Vangerdahast, but the ghazneth was ducking behind its wing even as the bolts struck. The leathery appendage grew white and translucent, revealing the fanlike network of delicate bones within.

Vangerdahast made a fist and gestured toward the creature, and his floating glove closed around the firefly in its palm and shot in the direction indicated. Still hiding behind its wing, the ghazneth gathered itself to spring, The wizard guided his glove over its wing, then turned his hand palm down and made a slapping motion. The glove flipped over and slapped the firefly against the phantom’s head.

“Light!” Vangerdahast commanded.

A brilliant globe of magic light engulfed the ghazneth’s head. The creature cried out and jumped back, shaking its head madly. The light moved with it.

Vangerdahast lowered his hand and closed his fingers as though grasping a knife handle. The glove disappeared behind the phantom’s wing, and a snarl of surprise rolled up the canyon. The wizard moved his hand up and down. The glove rose and fell with the motion, grasping Rowen’s rusty knife and spattering the canyon walls with streams of dark blood.

The ghazneth shrieked and lowered its wing, fully revealing the brilliant aura that engulfed its head. Its arms and wings flailed about wildly, but its efforts to catch the floating glove were all in vain. It could see nothing inside the golden ball but blinding yellow light. Vangerdahast whipped his hand around, and the rusty dagger circled and came up beneath the phantom’s ribcage. The ghazneth clutched at the black-bleeding wound and fled down the canyon, careening oft’ the walls and wailing in rage.

Vangerdahast started after it, but the creature was as fast as a lion. Before his third step, the wizard realized he would never keep up and turned to find Tanalasta now on her own mare, pulling Rowen on to the horse behind her. Though the fellow had suffered no obvious wounds, he seemed to be reeling from his collision. Cadimus was standing behind her, looking wide-eyed and dazed, but little worse for wear. Vangerdahast rushed up the canyon and grabbed the stallion’s reins, then swung into his saddle.

“Go!” Though one of Vangerdahast’s light spells normally lasted close to a day, he suspected the ghazneth would not need nearly that much time to absorb the enchantment’s magic and return more angry than ever. “I didn’t kill it, you know!”

“Yes, but at least we wounded it.” Tanalasta set her heels to the mare’s flanks, and the horse sprang up the canyon at a gallop. “That’s an improvement.”

Vangerdahast started after her, at the same time motioning the glove back to his side. Fearful of losing Rowen’s dagger, he plucked the bloodied weapon from the magical hand. To his astonishment, it was a simple blade of cold-forged iron. Demons hated cold-forged iron, but the ghazneth wasn’t a demon-it couldn’t be. He cleaned the blade on his saddle blanket and stuck it in his belt, then snatched his linen glove out of the air and returned it to his pocket.

They galloped around two sharp corners, then Tanalasta cried out and reined her horse up short. Expecting to find a band of orcs blocking the way-it was inconceivable that even the ghazneth had negated his light spell that fast-

Vangerdahast reached into his cloak for a chunk of brimstone, then eased up beside the princess. Twenty paces ahead, the canyon was blocked by a huge steel gate.

“By the nine doors to hell! What’s that doing here?”

Rowen peered over Tanalasta’s shoulder, then pinched his eyes shut and tried to shake his head clear.

“Are you sure this is the way?” Tanalasta asked.

“It’s the way,” Rowen replied. “It must be an illusion. We ran into one before, just before we opened the second tomb.”

“An illusion?” Vangerdahast waved his hand at the door and uttered a long string of mystic syllables. “Begone!”

The door vanished at once, revealing a dark, squat figure with large crimson eyes and a huge nose veined from too much drink. A tarnished crown sat tangled into his wild halo of long, spiky hair, and the gaping hollow in his unkempt beard could be identified as a mouth only because of its four yellow fangs and wagging red tongue.

“What? No knock?” the stranger croaked. He flung his arms to the sky in some strange gesture Vangerdahast did not understand. “You just vanish my door?”

The strange little man was as naked as the day he was born, with glistening skin the color of obsidian and a pot belly the size of a soup kettle. There were broken yellow talons at the ends of his fingers, a pair of tall wings folded behind his shoulders, and an unspeakable collection of parasites crawling through his sparse body hair.

“Another..” Vangerdahast was so astonished he could hardly gasp the question. “Another ghazneth?”

“Of course!” Tanalasta sounded more excited than frightened. ‘They’ve opened three tombs.”

“Three… that we know of,” Vangerdahast said.

The ghazneth flexed its wings. When the appendages hit the canyon walls, it cursed vilely and started forward at a walk.

“Enough is enough!” Vangerdahast dropped his reins and reached over to grab his companions by the wrists. “Hold on.”

Rowen’s eyes grew large. “Not me!”

The ranger jerked his arm free, then snatched the dagger from Vangerdahast’s belt and slipped off the mare. The ghazneth closed to within ten paces.

Tanalasta twisted around in the saddle. “Rowen-“

“My duty is here,” he said, backing away from the horse.

Tanalasta glanced at the ghazneth. Its long tongue snaked out between its fangs, and it gathered itself to spring. Vangerdahast leaned across Cadimus’s back and reached for the ranger.

“Give me your hand,” the wizard commanded. “Now!”

Rowen backed away. The ghazneth cackled madly and sprang into the air. Vangerdahast pulled his hand back and pictured the stables of the palace in Arabel. Tanalasta cried out, then ducked and twisted away, tearing her arm from his grasp as he spoke his incantation. The world went black and something heavy and hard slammed into Vangerdahast from above, then suddenly he was falling.

It seemed to take forever to, reach the ground. The weight vanished from his back. He grew disoriented and queasy and lost all sense of time. This fall seemed to be taking forever, and he thought maybe this was what a quick death felt like-no pain, no fear, just a sudden, endless darkness-save that he could still feel something foul and hot touching his neck, and something bristly rubbing against his cheek.

The light returned the same instant it had vanished. Vangerdahast glimpsed Cadimus’s brown flank slipping past his nose, then crashed headlong into the brown soft earth. The weight of the world came crashing down on top of him, and he found himself buried beneath a heap of cackling, rancid-smelling black leather.

For a long instant, the wizard lay there with his head spinning, trying to sort out where he was and what the terrible stench in his nostrils might be. He heard voices crying out in astonishment-men, and a few women, too-and he grew aware of a terrible crushing pain in the center of his back.

Vangerdahast reached out and dug his fingers into the soft ground, then slowly dragged himself forward. Now he heard the sound of clanking armor. Certain voices began to seem familiar to him. The wizard pulled himself forward and suddenly he was free of the terrible weight. He rose to his knees and saw the hem of a woman’s gown and no fewer than fifty horse legs separating him from the white, daub-and-wattle walls of a well-kept stable, then it all came flooding back to him.

Vangerdahast craned his neck and found himself looking up at a fully armored company of Purple Dragons. With them were several familiar figures: a tall, gray-bearded man in dusty riding clothes and a golden field crown, a bushy-browed wizard with a plump face, a honey-haired beauty with eyes as blue as ice, a wiry priest with a thin, weather-beaten face. Azoun, Merula, Filfaeril, Owden-all staring at him with confused looks of horror on their faces.

Something fluttered next to Vangerdahast, and he looked over to see the tip of a leathery black wing beating the air.

“No!” He clambered to his feet, at once raising a hand to wave off his friends and whirling around to face the ghazneth. “Defend your-“

A black hand swept down to catch Vangerdahast in the side of the head, launching him end-over-end across the stable. He crashed down a dozen paces in front of Cadimus and tumbled onto his stomach, ears ringing and blood pouring from his opened scalp. His vision narrowed. He shook his head clear and thrust his hand into his cloak.

A dozen dragoneers managed to spur their mounts out to intercept the ghazneth. The dark creature streaked through them like an eagle through a field of gophers, then slapped the sword from Azoun’s hand and settled into the saddle facing the horrified king.

“Usurper!”

The ghazneth snatched the crown from Azoun’s head, then sank its filthy claws through his armor and hurled him from the saddle like a child’s rag doll. Vangerdahast felt a sudden wave of nausea, and the darkness began to close around him. He gritted his teeth and grabbed his favorite wand, willing the darkness to stay away.

A flurry of Purple Dragons whirled on the ghazneth, hacking and slashing. It beat them off with a few strokes of its dark wings, then the war wizards cut loose with bolt and flame. The ghazneth furled its wings and roared with laughter as the spells languished against its defenses, then leaped over a wall of guards to land atop Filfaeril.

The barrage of war spells ceased as suddenly as it had started. The queen shrieked in terror, and the creature hid her behind its wings.

Vangerdahast’s vision continued to narrow. He pulled the wand from his cloak.

“No need to be frightened, my dear,” said the ghazneth. A mad cackle sounded from the other side of the leathery curtain. “I wouldn’t harm my queen-would I?”

The creature sprang into the air, Filfaeril clasped securely in its claws. Vangerdahast’s vision narrowed to a keyhole. He whipped his wand toward the queen’s flailing figure and shouted his command word as the keyhole closed.