walls of Larbreth when the joints of his right arm had begun to seize up. He had wielded his sword left-handed while he made his escape. He had known fear then; and many times since.
And knew it now.
Where was the dragon? Was it still high on that bluff, or was it moving softfoot down to the killing ground where the men lay hiding? Could a dragon move softfoot? Was it playing a game with them, as a cat will play with a mouse? How long could the men lie there in the shadow of fear? Sooner or later one was sure to panic and run.
Hearst heard the dragon take to the air. The wings creaked. The shadow plunged overhead. Where was it headed? Was it gaining height, ready to dive down to attack them? 'It's gone,' said Alish, in a voice Hearst remembered from the Cold West: the voice of Bloodsword, He Who Walks, Our Lord Despair. 'On your feet,' said Alish. it's gone. Come on. Up! You, and you: carry Erhed. He's stunned.'
As the men slowly got to their feet, Hearst consulted with Garash. i thought dragons only flew by night,' said Hearst.
'No law tells them to,' said Garash. 'They may choose otherwise here.'
'What do you suggest we do then?' said Hearst.
'There is nothing to do,' said Garash. 'Except hope.'
'What's this?' said Alish. 'Taking advice from wizards, are we?'
'There's nobody else to ask,' said Hearst.
'Then we can keep our own counsel,' said Alish.
'Many value the advice of wizards, manroot,' said Garash.
'When fear speaks to fear, courage sees no reason to listen,' said Alish. 'We march.'
The challenge came the next evening. The Rovac warriors had heard not so much as a rumour of trouble, but then, they had been busy – Alish scouting ahead for the easiest route, Hearst helping Garash and Blackwood over the more difficult parts of the trail, and Gorn bringing up the rear to make sure no stragglers lagged behind. Those who wished to conspire had been given all the opportunities they could have wished for.
The mutiny was planned and led by Atsimo Andranovory, an experienced, dangerous man. Born in Lorp, a poverty-stricken land on the west coast north of Estar, he had spent part of his early life as a fisherman in the Lesser Teeth, before joining the Orfus pirates. Boozing and brawling had destroyed any prospects he might have had there: after quarrelling with a pirate captain, he had been put ashore at Iglis, in Estar, and had put his sword at Prince Comedo's command.
In Castle Vaunting, Andranovory had never amounted to much – he had just been a drunken bully boy. Even after they had left the High Castle, the thought highest in his mind had been the proper care and rationing of the two skins of hard liquor which he had carried in his pack.
However, it was now a long time since Andranovory had put alcohol to his lips – or, for that matter, to any less conventional part of his anatomy – and he was clear-minded and ready to assert himself. He knew full well that it would be easy enough to gain the Velvet River and retreat to the Harvest Plains in the south, whereas the journey north was taking them into danger, with every chance that winter would catch them on the desolate uplands of the Central Plateau.
Andranovory soon found he was not the only one who thought it was better to sing about heroes than to try to emulate them. After all, in this desolate wasteland there was no chance of any pillage, plunder or rape -unless, as Erhed said, one was to find a very young and tender dragon. All that was needed was the right moment to strike.
At the camp they made that evening, the right opportunity arose, for Elkor Alish unbuckled his sword to give him complete freedom of movement for a difficult climb up a cliff face to raid a bird's nest. Andranovory let him make the climb – he fancied an egg as much as anyone – but moved his men into position with a nod or a wink.
When Alish descended, he noticed nothing odd, for his concentration was devoted to treasuring down the half- dozen bird's eggs he was carrying in a string bag, gripping the draw-strings in his teeth.
When Alish jumped the last little bit to the ground, he found a half-circle of men confronting him, and Andranovory holding his sword-belt.
'Good evening,' said Andranovory.
And smiled.
As adrenalin armed him for action, Alish glanced around, noting men standing guard over Garash, Gorn and Hearst. How easily they had been taken! They must have been half-asleep. The wizard Garash, despite his power, was helpless when someone was holding a knife at his back – as Alish had proved during their first confrontation at Castle Vaunting.
Beside Hearst stood a man who held the battle-sword Hast, and was gloating over the firelight steel. Hearst gave Alish a little nod, and Alish, giving no answering signal, waited just long enough for Andranovory to begin to speak.
'The boys and me,' said Andranovory, drawing the Melski blade, 'Have been thinking, and – '
Alish smashed the eggs into his face and butted him in the stomach. Then pushed him, sending him reeling back into the crowd. And Gorn and Hearst were moving, smashing fists and elbows into the nearest faces. Hearst tossed a weapon through the air. Alish grabbed for the hilt, snatched the sword from the air, and screamed: 'Ahyak Rovac!'
Gorn and Hearst, both now armed with weapons not their own, broke free from the mutineers and danced into position, moving with an effortless grace in which there was not the slightest hint of a swaggering boast or bluster – only the perfect economy of absolute professionalism.
'Three against forty,' said Alish. 'The odds are even!'
And some of the mutineers fell back, as if believing him. The more clear-sighted saw that Alish was simply making war on them with words, but, all the same, none wanted to be the first to die. And nobody, watching Our Lord Despair flanked by Gorn and Hearst, could for a moment have believed that those three warriors would surrender, whatever happened from now on.
Andranovory, pushed forward by the others, hesitated, then picked up the Melski blade which he had dropped when Alish had butted him.
Alish moved.
Light blurred through the air. Steel halted a fraction from Andranovory's throat. Then Alish withdrew the blade.
'What have you got to say to me now?' said Alish. Andranovory looked around. 'Come on, boys,' he said. Nobody moved.
'I think you'll find they're suddenly hard of hearing,' said Alish.
'Then it seems I must surrender to your… justice!'
And with the last word, Andranovory swung at Alish, putting all his strength into the blow. The Melski sword slashed through the air.
Elkor Alish moved like a dancer. One hand gripped the hilt of Hast. The other slid along the flat of the blade so that his arms were widespread, bracing the sword. Andranovory's full-strength swing sent the Melski blade slamming into this barrier, cutting edge impacting with flat steel.
The Melski blade shattered.
And Elkor Alish was moving again, sidestepping, pirouetting, outflanking Andranovory with nimble steps which suggested that he could have made a spectacular career for himself as a dancing master in one of the courtly cities of the Cold West.
The mutineer, still holding the Melski sword with its jagged stiimp of blade, tried to turn to meet him. Alish tripped him expertly. Andranovory went sprawling. The battle-sword Hast sliced down – and sheared away part of his scalp.
Alish dug the point of the sword into the bloody piece of skin and hair, flicked it into the air and fielded it. The piece he had cut away was half the size of the palm of his hand. Andranovory lay on the ground, dazed, half- persuaded he was dead. Alish gave a small bow, and offered him the trophy, saying: 'Madam, you seem to have
