'Towalloko,' Midalis repeated softly, and he was falling, falling, deeper and deeper into the web of colors and images, his mind soaring from the cave on the side of the mountain to a different place, a quieter and more peaceful place.
With a puff, Andacanavar blew out the candle, and Midalis' eyes popped wide as if he had just awakened from a restful sleep. He stared at Towalloko, trying to piece it all together. There was magic here, he knew, gemstone magic; and Andacanavar had spoken of the hoop as if it were one of the many Alpinadoran gods. And yet the Alpinadorans rejected the sacred stones outright and completely. Midalis furrowed his brow at the apparent contradiction. He stared hard at Andacanavar, seeking some explanation, but the ranger only smiled knowingly, and went back to sorting the many items.
Then the ranger explained, in precise detail, the procedure for this task that lay before the two leaders. The ritual of blood-brothering had ancient traditions in Alpinador, ever since the tribal ancestors, who worshiped the spirit shaggoth as the mountain god of snow, had captured the beast in this cave. Once, the feat of riding the creature had been a passage of manhood for every tribal youngster, but as the years had passed with many, many of the adolescent boys losing their lives or limbs in the attempt, the ritual had been moved to a more remote and even more special place in Alpinadoran culture, the blood-brothering.
This blood-brothering between Midalis and Bruinhelde, Andacanavar explained, would be the first in over a decade.
'And how did the last one end? ' a clearly worried Midalis asked.
Andacanavar only smiled.
'You are not to harm the shaggoth,' the ranger explained a moment later, 'in no way, not even at the cost of your own life.'
Bruinhelde nodded, his jaw set, but Midalis gave a doubtful smirk.
'Not that you could bring harm to the great beast anyway,' Andacanavar said, his tone somber, 'not even if you brought fine weapons in there with you. This is a test of your courage, not your warrior skills, and a test of your trust in each other. If either of you fails, then you both will surely die, and horribly.'
Midalis wanted to remark that he doubted Andacanavar would risk such a loss, but he held the thought and considered, then, that the ranger would not do this thing, would not bring them here and risk so very much, if he didn't trust both Midalis and Bruinhelde. The Prince turned to regard this giant man who would become his blood- brother. In truth, he didn't care much for stubborn Bruinhelde, found him driven by honor to the point of callousness, but he did trust the man would keep his word. And in battle, in any test where he had to depend upon the honor of an ally, Midalis couldn't think of another man, except perhaps Liam, with whom he would rather be allied.
'Are you prepared to begin? ' the ranger asked solemnly; and both men, after a glance at each other, nodded. Andacanavar took a small pot out of his seemingly bottomless backpack, and then produced packets of various herbs from his many belt pouches. He poured them all together in the pot, added a little snow, and set it over the fire. Soon a sweet aroma filled the small chamber, permeating Midalis' consciousness with rainbow dreams and blurring images.
He felt light, as if he could glide on mountain winds. He felt sleepy, and then strangely energetic. He watched Andacanavar's movements as if in a dream, as the ranger took the venison off of the spit, then unhooked one chain from the metal center bar and skewered the venison upon it. He reattached the chain and handed it to Bruinhelde. Then the ranger, with a final salute to both men, crawled back into the tunnel that had brought them to this chamber and began to sing softly outside.
Bruinhelde gathered a pair of spurs and began tying them on his heavy boots, and Midalis did likewise; then, without even a glance at the Prince, Bruinhelde collected the rest of the items and began crawling up the steep tunnel. Midalis, feeling as if he was simply floating up the shaft, followed closely.
The Prince couldn't see much through the smoke, but he sensed that Bruinhelde had exited the chimney, and then heard the barbarian's sharp intake of breath, as if in fear.
Fighting his own fears, reminding himself that Bruinhelde was depending on him, Midalis clawed up the last ten feet of tunnel, pulling himself onto the floor of a higher chamber, beside the barbarian. Midalis followed the man's gaze across this larger chamber to a light-colored mound on the floor. Midalis at first thought it was a pile of snow.
But then it moved, uncoiled, coming toward them slowly, sniffing. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Midalis could make out more and more of the creature-this shaggoth spirit-and it took every ounce of will he could muster not to simply dive back down the tunnel!
It resembled a great centipede, perhaps ten times the length of a man and thrice as thick, its wormlike torso gleaming white, with one line of glowing bright orange along its back. Even from this distance, Midalis could feel the heat of that stripe and realized that the spirit shaggoth used that hot strip to help it burrow under the snow.
It kept its monstrous head off the ground as it clattered toward them, its single, bulbous, black insectlike eye glittering eagerly from the middle of its flat face, and its many legs skittering. Midalis shivered at the sight of the creature's ample teeth: great elongated fangs and tusks, too large to be contained even by its considerable mouth.
'We go now,' Bruinhelde whispered, and he thrust one of the chains into Midalis' hand. The Prince looked at it curiously for just a moment; but Bruinhelde was already moving, so he, too, leaped up, working rapidly to take up the slack. The spirit shaggoth sprouted small white wings from the sides of its upper torso, beating them furiously to lift its head farther off the ground, raising its front quarter up, like one of the great hooded snakes of Behren.
And that eye! That glittering eye! Looking right through him, Midalis believed. He nearly lost all hope then, nearly threw himself on the ground before the mighty creature that it could kill him swiftly.
But Bruinhelde kept moving, and the barbarian's calm allowed Midalis to keep his wits about him. A moment later the pair, swinging their chains in unison, sent the skewered venison steak flying out before them, to land on the ground near the spirit shaggoth.
The creature eyed the meat curiously. Midalis heard it sniffing again and recognized the spirit shaggoth's nose was a mere hole in its face right below the bulbous eye.
'What if it does not strike the meat?' Midalis asked quietly, working, fastening his javelin to the free end of his chain, as was Bruinhelde.
The spirit shaggoth began to sway, back and forth. Hypnotizing movements, back and forth, back and forth. Andacanavar had warned them about this, had told them that to stare into that eye was to forget all plans, was to freeze in the face of the spirit shaggoth and be devoured.
Midalis glanced at Bruinhelde and saw the barbarian was standing perfectly still, staring at the creature. The Prince lashed out, punching the barbarian's shoulder. Then he and Bruinhelde both jumped in terror as the spirit shaggoth struck, taut muscles propelling the head forward with blinding speed at the venison and the bar, snapping it up.
'Now!' Bruinhelde yelled. Both he and Midalis launched their javelins past the spirit shaggoth's head, which was up high again, to the floor behind. Bruinhelde immediately brought forth Towalloko, snapping flint against steel to light the wick. Then he ran before the great beast, holding out the bringer of dreams, turning the ring slowly, slowly.
Prince Midalis knew what he was supposed to do-run past the distracted monster, scoop up one chain as a rein, and mount it, straddling the orange line of fire to catch the other chain. He knew that the sooner he went, the better their chances of success, and silently screamed at himself to move. But he couldn't bring his legs to action.
'Go!' Bruinhelde called to him.
Midalis tried to move. He thought of the disaster this day would bring if he did not go-if, because of his cowardice, Bruinhelde was killed, or they both were forced out in disgrace. What loss to Honce-the-Bear, to Vanguard, which had been saved by the Alpinadorans.
Yes, that was it, the image of St. Belfour besieged, of the goblins closing in on Midalis' small force. Surely those creatures would have destroyed the Vanguardsmen had not Bruinhelde and his clansmen come to their aid.
Now Midalis was running low in a crouch, his spurs crunching into the ice-covered floor or sparking whenever they struck bare stone. He tried to keep his movements fluid, to make no abrupt move that would break the swaying spirit shaggoth from its Towalloko-induced trance.
