the red-lit smoke that twined across the sunset clouds, and by the thin coating of fresh ash and cinder that lay across the countryside, clear proof that there had recently been a minor eruption.
According to the rough map the Forgotten King had provided, his goal, the city of Dыsarra, lay somewhere in the foothills of this range, but as yet he saw no sign of it. He wondered that people would live in such a land, with the shadow of fiery destruction looming over them, but there was no question that they did; for some time now the road he traveled had wound through farmland, elaborately irrigated and lush with unfamiliar crops. He had noticed that the farmers' houses were all roofed with tile or tin, rather than the more customary thatch; plainly, straw was too easily set ablaze by vagrant sparks drifting on the breeze that blew steadily down from the mountains, a warm, dry wind that brought with it strange new odors, scents he had never known before.
He had come this far without incident, which pleased him. After agreeing to undertake this journey it had been a matter of an hour or so to obtain an assortment of bags and pouches, to carry whatever he might find, and a week's supply of food and water, which he had augmented on the road by hunting and minor thefts from untended fields and wells. Thus equipped, he had allowed himself to be escorted out the North Gate, whereupon he circled around to the West Gate where he had retrieved Koros and his weapons and other supplies. He had then circled further, to the southwestern highway, a branch of which he was still following. Unlike his previous quest in the Forgotten King's service, which had led across barren, deserted lands inhabited only by barbaric little tribes, this journey had wound through league after league of settled, civilized countryside, more than he had known to exist upon the face of the world; he had dodged a double dozen of villages, and given a wide berth to a huge walled city indicated on the old man's map as Ur-Dormulk, all before even crossing the first mountains that marked the border between Eramma and Nekutta. Five times now he had set Koros free at night so that the warbeast could hunt its own food, and each time he had worried that it might not be able to find any meat to its liking except human flesh in the form of sleeping farmers, as there was not much wildlife to be found in such thickly-settled regions. Fortunately, Koros seemed to have managed, preying on stray goats and sheep when nothing else was available; Garth was grateful that it remained true to its training and avoided killing anything humanoid-when it could be avoided. It had, on occasion, eaten people when nothing else edible could be found, and it had eaten those it happened to kill in self-defense, but as a rule it knew not to.
It was an extremely useful animal, the finest product of a thousand years of selective breeding and magical shaping, but its voracious appetite could be very inconvenient. Ordinarily it was supremely obedient, but its loyalty decreased as its hunger increased, and Garth knew that five days without food, as opposed to the usual three days it went between meals, would render it willing to devour anything that moved, including its master.
It had fed last night on a pair of plump goats, and usually when recently fed it was as placid as a pampered housecat; today, though, the harsh landscape and crunching cinders seemed to upset it, and it growled softly, low in its throat, as a new twist of smoke drifted up the western sky.
Garth watched the smoke, and suddenly realized it had risen from a point between peaks; he stared at the jagged black shapes and thought he made out the curve of a dome amid the irregular constructions of nature. The shadows still obscured all color and detail, but the longer he looked the more convinced he became that there was, in fact, at least one man-made structure in these somber hills. He called the word that Koros recognized as a command to halt, as even the smooth grace of the warbeast's stride jogged him sufficiently to make it difficult to focus at so great a distance.
Yes, there was something there. He could not be sure what, as the sun was now slipping below the highest peaks, making it harder than ever to distinguish anything. He looked about, to rest his eyes, and noticed a farmer, a hundred yards away, leaning on a hoe and studying the overman and warbeast.
'Ho! Farmer!' he called.
The man did not move.
'Come here! I would speak with you!' He motioned.
The farmer looked about, as if to see if the overman meant someone else, though there was no other living being in sight, only the man's own twenty acres and the empty road stretching away in either direction. Then he shrugged and came, dragging his hoe casually, to stand a dozen yards away.
'Farmer, is that Dыsarra?' Garth pointed at the spot where he had seen the dome.
The farmer followed the direction of the pointing finger and said, 'I suppose it is.' His accent was strange to Garth, harsh and guttural, but his words were plain enough.
'How far is it?'
The farmer shrugged. 'Couldn't say. You're an overman, I know, but what is that you're riding?' He studied Koros closely, from the glittering three-inch fangs in its jaw to the tip of its lashing tail, and from its glossy black-furred shoulder to its huge padded paws. A good eighteen feet long, the monster resembled nothing so much as an overgrown panther, though proportioned differently in order to support its greater bulk. It had a cat's golden slit eyes and triangular ears, stubby black whiskers on its muzzle, and a long slender tail. No panther had such fangs, though, and both legs and face seemed oddly elongated; it stood nearly as tall as the farmer himself. Pure black throughout, with no touch of color nor single gray hair, its muscles rippled smoothly under its fur; it clearly had no trouble at all in carrying the full weight of the armored overman and his supplies.
'It is a warbeast.'
Koros growled.
The farmer suddenly seemed less sure of himself. He had assumed that any animal that served as a beast of burden, however formidable it might appear, must be docile and harmless-but no peaceful ox nor temperamental cart-goat ever made a noise like that. He thought better of previous actions, and said, 'Dыsarra is ten leagues distant, my lord, along this same road, three leagues past the crossroads at Weideth.'
'Crossroads?'
'Yes. It's of no importance, though; for Dыsarra you ride straight through on this same road, making no turn.'
'What is Weideth?'
'The village at the crossroads; a small town, with no wall. You'll have no trouble there.'
Garth was less certain of that than his informant seemed to be. This man seemed to accept an overman and warbeast calmly enough, but would an entire village?
'Is there no way around it? I do not wish to be seen.'
'Around? No, my lord, not that I know of; the terrain thereabouts is very rough, and Weideth lies in a narrow pass, astride the road. It's a wonder they don't charge a toll, in truth.'
'I see. My thanks, man.'
The man bowed and stepped back, and when Garth made no further comment nor move to stop him, he turned and departed at a brisk pace.
This village, Garth thought as he urged Koros forward once again, was a nuisance. He did not dare risk losing his way at this point; he would have to ride through and hope he did not create too much of a commotion. Ten leagues to Dыsarra, and that three leagues past Weideth, the man had said; that meant he was seven leagues from the village. Seven leagues was two or three hours ride, perhaps a trifle more if the terrain was bad; if he kept riding he would pass through the village well after full dark, and reach Dыsarra in the middle of the night, while if he stopped and made camp he would arrive at midday tomorrow. Midday was scarcely a good time to try and slip unobtrusively through a village, nor was it a good time for reconnaissance in Dыsarra. He was not tired, and Koros was well-fed; he should have no trouble in completing his journey without further delay. If he were to be a thief, then he would arrive as a thief in the night; he spoke the command for a trot and the warbeast strode on, the only sound the soft crunching of cinders.
The moon was near full, making it easy to follow the road even after the sun was well down, though it was not actually necessary to see it since straying to either side would mean passing through the tall grass of late summer, easily two feet in height, that flanked the way. Besides the pale light of the moon, Garth noticed as well a dim red glow flickering about the mountaintops that grew as he approached-volcanic fires, of course. He began to share Koros' dislike for this country; such eerie lights seemed threatening. A volcano active enough to light the clouds at night could well be active enough to bury its surroundings in ash and lava, yet here he was riding ever closer.
