deep in the soft earth where he had lain an instant before. Then the courier was up and running, fumbling to stuff himself back in his trousers and bawling at the top of his voice. 'Down!'
This time Fost knew better than to doubt Erimenes, He dived forward, gasping at an impact that drew a searing line of pain along his back.
Tucking his shoulder, he rolled. As he twisted, he drew sword from scabbard. The beak cracked with a sound like the gates of Hell closing. Dying sunlight glinted from teeth like spikes. The bird voiced a triumphant, whistling scream. The awful jaws descended.
A furred, dark form struck them like a bolt shot from a catapult. The monster went down with Grutz snapping and clawing at its head. In an instant the bird had its webbed talons beneath an oily body and snaked its neck out of the bear's embrace. The head cocked itself back preparing for another strike, eyes burning with unnatural hatred.
Grutz scrambled nimbly away from a vengeful thrust of the beak. Though they weighed a ton each, the bears were as agile as dancers on their feet. But as immense as Grutz was, he was dwarfed by the nightmare black birdshape that stood over him poised to kill this new interloper.
Roaring, Chubchuk lumbered down the slope to aid his companion. The hetlbird turned its head; instantly Grutz darted in and swiped it on the side of the head. The head reared, shrilling agony. Streaming black ichor dripped from parallel slashes below a burning eye.
Fost regained his feet, breathing heavily, sword held double-handed with one hand gripping the outside of its silver basket. He heard Jennas's angry cry as she charged into battle waving her greatsword.
The head darted at Fost. He leaped away, barely keeping his footing on the wet grass. His hauberk swung freely at his sides, its fabric of interlocked iron rings rent as easily as paper by the deadly beak. He felt wetness drench his back and knew it was his blood. 'Fost!' cried Jennas. 'Are you still in one piece?'
'Mostly,' he gasped, feeling the first waves of pain from his wound. 'Watch yourself. This thing's strike range is phenomenal.' Even as he spoke, the creature unleashed itself like a steel spring straight for the courier.
The monster's strike at Fost gave the bears a chance to close in on it, ripping and biting and snarling up a storm. The monster retreated toward the bank in an ungainly waddle. But it was not defeated. Its head moved with blinding speed. Chubchuk bawled as the beakpoint pierced his shoulder.
Grutz grabbed a scaly leg and bit. The bird collapsed, an unearthly keening echoing out over the rush of the Black River. It was up again on one leg in an eyeblink, holding its wounded leg to its belly, but Grutz's sally had given Chubchuk a chance to scurry to safety. The bears worked well as a team, but Fost realized that even those ponderous, furry engines of destruction were outmatched by this avian menace.
Fost saw Jennas circling wide behind the monster, coming up on its blind side. He knew then what he had to do. Ignoring Erimenes's shrill cheering, interspersed with demands to be freed in order to get a better view, he took the stoutest grip he could on the sword and sucked in a huge breath.
The flaming gaze fixed on him. Strength left him in a flash. His soul was being sucked out through his eyes, drawn out to fall into a void, into fiery scarlet suns.
'You limp-peckered, frog-witted son of a catamite!' shrieked Erimenes in tones ill-suited to the Realm's most distinguished dead philosopher. 'Move!' Fost moved.
'Yaah!' he screamed, soul snapping back into his body in a blaze of fury. 'Come and get me, buzzard!'
He had fully intended to draw the hellbird into a strike at him, dodging aside at the last moment while Jennas attacked from the opposite side. But instead of leaping out of the way, he stood his ground as the needle-sharp point of the monster's beak arrowed at his chest. Time slowed as his whole being focused on the black blade of the bird's beak. When it was an arm's reach away, he swung his sword. Power flooded him now, adrenaline-backed power. His lips stretched back in a maniacal grin. The beast made a horrid flutelike sound of surprise and agony as Fost's sword smashed its beak in two.
The head jerked back. Air hissed like a venting fumarole in the night as jennas chopped half through the long, snaky neck with a slash of her greatsword.
Stinking black fluid spattered over Fost. The shattered beak opened and closed in mute agony as the head flopped at random on the half-severed neck. The monster waddled back two steps and slid over the river bank. Fost ran forward to see it come to rest partly in the water. It kicked twice, trying futilely to make one last attack. Then the light went from its eyes and it lay still. Fost turned and threw up. After a time he felt Jennas's touch on his shoulder. 'Are you hurt?'
He felt as if the left side of his back had been splashed with liquid fire.
'Not seriously.' He gratefully accepted a sip of water from her canteen, rinsed the warm water around his mouth and spat.
'A new War of Powers is in the offing. My divinations are being proven correct,' Jennas said solemnly. 'Evil creatures go abroad on the planet again, as the Dark Ones make plans to reclaim their dominion.' The world spun around Fost.
'No, no, no,' he repeated over and over in stubborn denial. He wouldn't live in a world where the gods took active part in the affairs of men and where powers beyond comprehension played and lost human beings – and monsters – like pawns.
'I've heard of such giant birds before,' he managed to choke out as bile rose in his throat. 'Nonsense.' The cap of Erimenes's jug had slipped off in the fracas. The genie's column of mist wavered by Fost's side. The shade eyed him disdainfully. 'The natural helldiver is appropriately named. They were too common in my day, though I gather they've died off.' He gestured at the Black River, murmuring unseen in the growing darkness. 'But that bird is strictly a salt water creature. Might I point out that the Black River is fresh this far up from the ocean?'
Still Fost shook his head, too tired for words, mutely denying that which he could not bear. With surprising gentleness jennas took his hand and helped him rise.
Grutz and Chubchuk hunched like fat gargoyles at the edge of the bank. Fost heard an odd, low moaning, an uneasy despairing sound that he took first for a roaring within his head and then for the wind in the reeds. But as his head cleared he realized it came from the bears. The long hairs on their necks and shoulders stood up like spiked harnesses and their wicked yellow teeth were bared toward the water.
Clutching Jennas's shoulder, Fost staggered to the bank's edge and looked down at… nothing. 'See?' Jennas said. 'It's gone.'
Fost pulled away.
'That doesn't mean anything. It slid into the water and was carried away by the current. The river's swift here.'
'No, look at the grass, Longstrider. The monster fell flat. The grass is crushed in all directions. Had it slipped into the water the grass would lie in that direction.'
The courier squinted. The lesser moon peeked up from the horizon, Omizantrim piercing its side like a dagger. Its rosy light showed black smears on the grass with steam rising in wisps from it. As Jennas said, the grass had been mashed down straight. His knees gave way beneath him. 'Gods!' he cried.
'Yes.' Jennas was as grim as an executioner. 'The gods. And we are bound to fight their battles for them.'
CHAPTER SIX
The path into the Mystic Mountains was little more than a haunting memory. When the low, humped foothills had started to grow into jagged mountains the party had hesitated for a moment among the stunted ugly bushes of the ravine where the trail had petered out. Moriana stared up into the heights while the others rested their dogs and sweated.
Finally she said, 'This way,' and rode on. The party that followed her was three less than that which had stopped.
So it had gone. Half the remaining contingent had deserted after the death of latic Stormcloud. Though what had happened was apparent enough to all, and though Darl argued in Moriana's favor with all his old skill and verve, more than twenty knights and footmen had turned their mounts to the northwest and ridden back for the River Marchant and the City States of the Empire that lay beyond. This journey lay under far too many ill omens for even
