He secured, instead, a length of bamboo, which nobody else thought worth fighting for. He found carrying bags to sling at each end of that pole, which he then carried across his shoulders. While others dreamed of gemstones, he lusted for a tinder box, a cooking pot, a waterskin, and a sheepskin rug in which he could roll himself at night.
When he had these, he sought rice, flour, dried beans, dried meat, nuts and cheese. Then agoodpairof new boots. Five changes of socks. A rain cape. A knife. A sword-belt complete with scabbard and blade.
He slung the sword-belt so the sword hung down his back. It would have to swim rivers with him, as would his clothes. Everything else, he rolled up, together with big chunks of cork, in pieces of canvas, and stuffed into the carrying bags, the mouths of which he then knotted tight with good rope.
Now he was ready to ford the many branches of the river delta. Now he was ready for the cold, wet, muck and mud of winter on the Harvest Plains. Which way now? North, of course. To Selzirk. For that was where Zanya had been last.
He lifted his burden to his shoulders. The bamboo pole bent alarmingly at both ends. The weight was crushing. But it would float, yes, wrapped up nicely with plenty of cork it would float all right.
And he was strong, and young, and fit, and used to working a brutal day on the oars.
And, thanks to his terrible experiences in Penvash, Drake knew all about travelling light. It's nice to dream about but murder to do.'Move!' said Drake to Drake.
And got going.
At the gates of Androlmarphos, Drake was accosted by a woman who made him an offer of lust. But, to his own amazement, he refused the offer, and trudged out into the rains sweeping the open plains.
Heading north.
57
Drake dreamed that a disaster befell the sky, and every star cried out in torture. He dreamed that he was born to starvation, born to die of leprosy and kwashiorkor.He woke.Monsters moved on the horizons.The Swarms were on the march.
Fell beasts of nightmare. Grim and eale. Clawing their way north. Ravening as they went. Destroying nations.'These are the last days,' murmured Drake.
And watched the Swarms until dayfail, when the monsters settled to sleep.
Drake marched by night, sheltered in a ditch at dawn, and slept.
He dreamed that gold turned to lead, silver to fish scales, bread to stone. In his dreams, nations lay dying. A woman with skin dark with bruising lay close to death, her breathing laboured. Time conjured the labefaction of
the sun. Ice whispered over the world, drowning the music of the last kithara.He woke.It was evening.
Something monstrous was moving near his ditch. He could feel its weight shaking the ground. He lay very, very still. Scarcely trusting himself to breathe.The thing lumbered on toward the north.Night fell. And, with it, rain.Drake walked.
And saw the towers of Selzirk, dimly, through the veiling rain. 'Zanya,' he said.
She would be there, surely, Selzirk would hold out even against the Swarms. It was a city great in power. Selzirk was protected by the battle-walls, Ol Ilkeen and Ol Unamon. How could such strength be broken?
Drake wanted to push on to Selzirk that night. But, in the end, fatigue conquered desire; he halted at a good distance, camping in a sparse grove of trees. He rested, ate, slept, and dreamed.
He dreamed of icy-pearled mountains marching, of dragons with ianthine eyes, of leper dancing with beggar, of a million children burning on a perfumed pyre, of a seven-fingered gytrash of alabaster white which fingered the dead red flesh of the woman he loved (if love was what he thought it).He woke.Night.Silence after rain. Cold moon rising.
A tiny dark shadow trying to scuffle its way into his food stock.'Gently, friend mouse,' said Drake.
Scaring it away. But not far. Maybe it was too cold or sick or hungry to run far. Drake threw it some ironbread, which the damp of the ground would soon enough soften for consumption. Then ate himself. Then marched.He was on the north bank.
As he neared the walls of Selzirk, he saw something monstrous coming down the Velvet River. So he went to ground, and watched. But it was only an abandoned gabbart floating downstream, listing heavily to larboard.
Even after the gabbart had gone by, Drake still lay there. Reluctant to move. He realized he was frightened. But of what? It was night: the Swarms would not resume their march until dawn. And he was Close to the safety of Selzirk, was he not? Surely the city would open it's gates at night. Yes. Sending scavenging parties into the countryside. They would welcome him, would they not? A strong swordsman. A new hero for their ranks.'March,' said Drake to Drake.
And shouldered bamboo, and marched. Every step meant pain, for, despite padding, the bamboo had long since rubbed his shoulders raw.
Ahead, a bridge arched across the river in one sweet span, beyond the possibilities of any engineering known to the earthbound humanity which Drake knew.T dream this,' he said.
But, when he closed the distance, he was able to soothe his fingers over its chill, which was smooth as fine- glazed porcelain. The moon shone bright on the bridge, which had no walls or guardrails.'The Swarms built this,' said Drake to Drake.The moon shone on the river.An endless river of tears.'Onward,' said Drake.
And went onward, and was soon walking in the shadow of Ol Ilkeen, the outer wall of the ruling city of the Harvest Plains. Looking up, he saw by moonlight strange, hunched shapes on the top of the battlements. What were they? Some kind of weapon? He wondered if he should cry out.
But he did not.
A fugitive's caution kept him silent. He thought:
He should try to find out who ruled the city before he announced himself.
The moon had gone behind shadow by the time Drake gained the stoneway of the Salt Road. He stood before the north gate, a shadow amidst shadows.Something vast lay between him and the gate.What was it?
A pyramid of some kind. A great heap of . . . what? Stone? Perhaps it was a new defence, built beyond Ol Ilkeen in order to strengthen the defences of the gate.A shift of cloud unveiled a fragment of the moon.
Something glinted in the pyramid which stood between Drake and the gate.Something moved.
Then the moon slipped clear of the cloud, and all was revealed. Drake was standing on the Salt Road scarcely a dozen paces from a huge pyramid made of sleeping monsters, all jigsawed together for safety against the night.'Saaa!' hissed Drake.Then hissed no more.
For the pyramid was shifting, changing, extending claws, tentacles, flaps, fins. Moonlight blazed upon open eyes. Huge eyes. Crystalline. Utterly alien.Drake stood as if turned to ice.He was a statue.
On the battlements, a huddled shape uncoiled, flexed, extended itself, opened wings. It was a Neversh!The battlements were lined with Neversh!
The moon slid behind shadows.
And Drake went to his knees, unburdened himself of his bamboo pole, sank to his belly then crawled for the roadside ditch. He moved as quietly as blood running across the deck of a ship. He gained the ditch. And began to shudder.
Much later, moonlight found him still lying there. Tentatively, he peered over the lip of the ditch. He could not see the gate for the mound of monsters. He had to know!
Drake crawled along the ditch. Twigs, leaves and thorns cracked and snapped beneath his weight. He advanced regardless.
Then risked another look. He was beyond the monster mound by now. But he still could not see. Where the
