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.
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 if.
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 towering 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!'
