Even so Menish would not have given much for their chances of escape.
They threw themselves into a narrow alleyway and raced down it. Menish ran blindly from alley to alley, hoping against hope that he could somehow lose the Gashans. Once, when he hesitated at a fork in their path, Azkun said, “Not that way, they are down there.” He took the other path, though he never knew if Azkun was right.
Althak moaned with the effort of their running. His arm looked much worse, the swelling was up to the elbow now, barely contained by the bandage Menish had made.
“M’Lord, I can't keep up with you. This alleyway's narrow, they couldn't approach me more than one or two at a time. Let me hold them here while you escape.”
“Damn your heroics!” shouted Menish with tears behind his eyes. “Do you think I could leave you to that? I'd rather kill you myself.”
He caught Althak’s arm and threw it across his shoulders. Azkun did the same with the other arm and, supporting him, they continued their flight.
Menish thought his heart would burst and his leg began to feel weak with strain. He was too old for this kind of thing, he should have listened to Adhara when she told him to stay in Meyathal. He did not want to die like this. In battle, yes, or even to drift away peacefully at home, but not captured by a horde of Gashans. He wanted to see Meyathal once more. He wanted to see Adhara.
They reached the outer wall of the city and clambered over a fallen section of it into the forest, heedless of any dangers except the one that followed them. Menish had no idea where they were. They might be on the far side of the city for all he could tell, but they kept on running.
A cry of fiendish glee rose behind them as Gashans spilled across the wall and spotted them racing through the trees. Menish had hoped they would have time to climb a tree and hide there but that was no longer a possibility. They ran on.
They were, all three, about to drop from exhaustion when they were suddenly halted by the marsh. Menish cursed himself for not paying closer attention to their surroundings. They had run out into a long tongue of dry ground and now were surrounded on three sides by the gurgling, slimy mud they were so familiar with. Behind them the Gashans crowded forward blocking any retreat.
There was no choice really. They waded into the slime.
It gurgled and stank. Fortunately it was not as thick as Menish had expected and they could make headway through it. The worst thing about it was the stink. The mud came up to Menish’s chest and that was uncomfortably close to his nostrils.
The Gashans, who had thought them trapped, yelled with rage and flung themselves into the mire after them. Menish could see some high ground not far off, but he doubted if they could reach it before the Gashans reached them. They were gaining on them.
Suddenly Azkun screamed.
“Something… something on my leg… pulling… aargh!” Before Menish could do anything he disappeared beneath the slime.
“Azkun! Damn.” The Gashans were still gaining. “It may be another of those creatures. Come on, Althak!” But the Vorthenki did not move. His face twitched but otherwise he hung limply from Menish’s shoulder. One arm draped down into the mud, following Azkun's disappearance. He moaned in pain.
“Althak!”
Suddenly the Vorthenki lurched into life. His body tensed as if a convulsion seized him, the muscles on his arm bunched and corded with strain. With a cry of agony he hauled Azkun back from under the mud.
At the same moment a marsh creature erupted in the midst of the Gashans, roaring and screeching and snaking out fingers towards them. Menish did not know where he found the strength to drag his two companions through the mud to solid ground. He had little enough left to even look back at the Gashans. The creature held a hundred writhing forms, the rest had escaped back to the other side.
They were safe for the moment, from Gashans at least. He collapsed between the bodies of his friends, not knowing if he would live to regain his senses or not and, for the moment, not greatly caring.
It was Azkun who woke him, and it was pitch dark.
“I am worried about Althak. He is unconscious and his body jerks.”
“Convulsions,” said Menish. “I saw them start when we were in the mud. I think he pulled you out with one.”
“But… what does it mean?”
Menish sighed.
“It means he's dying,” he said wearily. “Why aren't you dying? You were bitten.”
Azkun’s hand touched his cheek.
“The dragons protect me.”
Menish slammed his fist into Azkun’s jaw.
“The dragons protect you? Hrangil died defending you from the marsh creature. Althak pulled you from under the mud. Your friends die saving you while you do nothing for them and thank your dragons!”
Azkun rubbed his jaw and said nothing. They waited until dawn, listening to Althak’s moaning.
When it was light enough Menish cut two straight branches and tied their cloaks between them to form a litter for Althak, for there was no way he could walk and Menish could not abandon him here. Althak’s pack, and the little food it still contained, had been lost when they fled the city so Menish set off with an empty belly and a heavy heart. He had little idea where they were, he only knew that this place was still too near the city and the marsh. Anywhere else was better.
Chapter 26: A Strange Guide
The following days were a nightmare. Azkun did not know how many weary days and fearful nights they spent in the forests of Gashan. The very ground under their feet seemed alive with snakes and other venomous things. Many times they found stretches of marshy slime across their path and had to wade through them, each time they expected the sudden tug of a marsh creature and the end of their journey.
All the time Althak’s pain ate into his mind. Azkun’s arm, not his face, was full of fire. But he had to use it to grasp the litter that carried his friend.
Althak was sometimes quiet for hours and Menish wondered if he had died, but then he would cry out with pain and fling his body about in convulsions. Menish eventually lashed him to the litter poles so that he would not harm himself or them.
But Menish himself was almost spent. The weariness of the journey, coupled with the total lack of food and, especially, water was telling on him. In desperation he drank once from a noisome pool and it cost him dearly. He was ill and feverish the next day and his stomach retched violently. He stumbled along in a half daze and only an innate toughness in his nature prevented him from lying down and dying.
Azkun, driven by the terror of the Gashans, led Menish on and together they carried Althak. Neither of them had any idea where they were or which direction they should take, but Azkun had to keep fleeing from the city. Lack of food and water did not trouble him directly, but he shared Menish’s pain and his sickness from the foul water.
It was a test. He knew that. For even now the dragons had not deserted him. Even if they would not save his friends, and Menish’s accusation had stung him, they would save Azkun himself. And if they led him from the forest then he would lead his friends. It was all he could do. He fought down the Gashan that still howled in a corner of his mind. It was a test. He would not let the dragons down. He would not let his friends down.
One night, when he felt his throat parched with Menish’s thirst and his arm throbbed with Althak’s poison, he dreamed of Tenari, or he thought he dreamed. She stood in the forest and beckoned him silently. At first he refused. She had led him to the Monnar when he had followed her last. But she stood there bathed in some ethereal light that looked like moonlight, though the moon was well past full. She looked as she had done in Relanor, her long, black hair combed and hanging down to her waist and wearing the court robe they had dressed her in. On her head she wore a silver circlet and below it her dark eyes sparkled with laughter. Her mouth formed words but made no
