"And you hid in the bilge," said Aiko, her voice flat.

"I can't help it," said Alos, his chin trembling. "It's the way I am."

Aiko continued to look at him impassively.

Alos could not meet her gaze. "You yourself said that the first rule of life is to live. -Yes, I deserted my shipmates, but at least I'm alive."

Aiko shrugged slightly. "Is it a life worth living?"

Arin frowned at Aiko, then said to Alos, "But this time, my friend, and unlike before, thou art with us, thy shipmates, in our time of need."

Alos looked south toward Dragons' Roost looming up in the morning light, his breath wheezing in and out of his gasping lungs, and then he nodded his head and groaned.

Driving the cattle was a laggardly task, for the stolid animals plodded slowly across the grass on the verge of the vast prairie stretching beyond sight to the east, while to the west rolled endless waves across the deeps of the Boreal Sea. South bore the seven companions, south for the flanks of Dragons' Roost some forty miles away, and at the pace they set, it would take the better part of three days to reach the distant slopes.

All day they rode, plodding along, Alos alternately weeping and drinking from one of the flagons of brandy he had slipped into his saddle bags. The sun rode up into the sky and over and down, shedding some warmth in the early spring, the winds yet chill and blowing inland from the brine of the Boreal nearby.

Now and again they would stop along the plentiful streams to let the animals take on water. Too, they would occasionally pause to feed the horses and mules some grain, and at those times the cattle would graze, the thick grasses now greening with the coming spring. Grass and horses and cattle: these were the riches of lord, the broad realm itself nought but a vast, lush plain.

As twilight fell they made camp in a coppice, somewhat out of the wind. They had come some twelve or thirteen miles from Hafen, the town just over the horizon behind. In the night they stood watches in turn, all but Alos, that is, for he slept under the influence of brandy and quivered and moaned in his sleep.

As on every night, near mid of night, Aiko on watch felt the presence of peril, peril at a distance. And unseen high in the sky above, something slid across the stars, taking care to avoid being silhouetted against the waning gibbous moon.

That night a bleak mist swirled in from the Boreal Sea, turning all dark. The next day found Arin and her band wending slowly southward across the dreary 'scape toward a now obscured goal. Urged forward by the riders, the cattle plodded onward in the still land, moving at their laggardly pace. And although the day brightened as the veiled sun swung up into the drab sky, the coiling fog lingered, chilling flesh to the bone.

Alos shivered and blubbered and drank from a second flask. And even though he couldn't see the oncoming mountain, he wept copious tears and swore he would not desert his shipmates in their time of need.

There was no twilight, the gloom merely growing darker with the sinking of the sun, though the mist remained palely luminous from the waning moon beyond. Once again they made camp, this time in a dank swale, the sward wet through and through from the fog. Having no wood they made no fire, and took a cold supper of jerky and tack and water.

As before they stood turns at guard, again excepting Alos, for the old man was beyond redemption in his fear and cried himself to sleep.

Near mid of night Aiko's tiger again whispered of peril, yet it was a peril that grew and grew. Hastily she awakened the others, hissing, "Something wicked comes."

In the faintly luminous mist, hooded lanterns were lit and made ready for battle, though their light was kept shut for the nonce. And weapons were taken in hand: Egil with his axe, Aiko and Burel and Delon with swords, Ferret with her daggers, and even though Arin loosened her long-knife in its scabbard, she readied her bow, though it was unlikely she would make use of it, for the chill fog yet swirled and coiled 'round. And they stood back to back in a small circle and waited, Alos in the center meeping tiny moans, ready to bolt.

Still the peril grew and grew, and of a sudden something monstrous swept overhead and bellowed an earsplitting roar-RRRAAAAWWW!-the comrades all flinching down in the thunderous blare.

The bellow was met by a harsh skreigh, as something screeched high above.

"Waugh!" shrieked Alos, and he threw his blanket over his head and groveled down against the earth.

The others peered upward, yet they could see nought in the dark swirling mist above, but they could hear a mighty swashing, as of huge pinions churning air.

The horses and mules screamed in fear and jerked against tethers staked in the ground, some to get free and gallop away in the dim fog, staves and tethers bouncing behind. The cattle, too, bellowed, and pulled up their own anchors and fled.

RRRAAAAWWWW! came another roar.

Grrrakkk! screeched an answer.

Of a sudden there was a violent blast, and the swirling mist flared red, as if a great gout of fire bloomed above. Again came roars and skreighs and the flap of vast wings, and again the mist above glared red. And now the skreighs dwindled, yet remained overhead, as if whatever thing made such shrieks flew higher into the sky.

"What do you-?" began Ferret, but her voice was drowned out by harsh shrieks and a maddened bellowing, and the fog overhead was backlit with furious flames, and moments later there came the sounds of rending, and then something thudded to the ground nearby, and then something else, and again and again, as if huge things were falling from the sky, unseen in the night of pale mist.

Then there came one last vast roar, and a great blooming of fire… and the flap of leathery wings heading south.

And as the sound dwindled, so, too, did all peril, or so a red tiger claimed.

CHAPTER 70

Aboard the dhow, mortar and pestle in hand, the dark Mage Ordrune stopped crushing an admixture of black and green crystals and looked up from the arcane blend.

Ah, as anticipated, my fell beast is dead.

Splendid! For it means those fools are nearing their goal.

He hissed a command, and the tongueless Drik leapt up from his station inside the door and raced away topside. Shortly a Ghok came groveling inward.

"Turn east and ready my Helsteeds and chariot," commanded Ordrune in Sluk.

The Ghok paused a moment, waiting to see if there were more his master would demand. Yet when Ordrune turned back to his mortar, the Ghok scrambled out and away, shouting his own harsh commands as he gained topside.

In moments there came the sound of rope pulleys in blocks and the whipcrack of canvas in wind, and the dhow heeled over to begin cleaving a new wake across the cold, cold brine.