Then the world went white.
CHAPTER 13
One second Gull stared helpless at a hobnailed armored boot poised to crush him -the next the sky filled with white, and the dank moldy smell of mushrooms washed over him.
Something huge loomed over Gull, something that made the armored avatar seem a mouse in comparison, as if the moon had come to earth.
The thing cast its own cold sickly light, like the foxfire of swamps or the glitter of lightning bugs. The woodcutter saw a head the size of a cottage, goggling glowing yellow eyes, and teeth like the stone spears of a cave. The beast was white all over, with that dank glow, speckled with rows of brownish-gray lumps.
Mushrooms, Gull realized. The beast was one giant mushroom speckled with a thousand more. The rank musty smell was overwhelming. Flakes big as plates fell from the beast's shoulders and broke on the ground, the way oyster mushrooms sloughed from birch trees in fall.
But the teeth were what touched the armored wizard.
The headless warrior balked as if hitting a wall. The mushroom monster's maw swung toward it and bit down. With a sickening crunch, stone teeth shattered on red-silver armor.
The women dropped to the ground as the avatar struggled, grabbed for anything to prevent disappearing into the maw. The mouth, big as a well, opened farther, swallowed half the armored carcass. Metal gloves plucked at the lumpy lips. White chunks crumbled, rained on Gull and the dancing girls. With a sudden surge of strength and terror, Gull crawled out of the way, bumping his sister and Lily with his head.
Then the armored wizard was gone.
Gull blinked. Swallowed? Or…?
No. There went the avatar, a wisp like ashes, flickering into the sky.
The giant mushroom monster growled deep in its throat. Goggle eyes like a fish's rolled, hunted. The thing was huge, tall as the dead trees, long as a barn. It picked up a bloated pulpy foot, lurched toward the wagons. People howled.
Then the beast changed color.
Waves of brown welled upward from the ground, flushed green near the middle, flooded blue at the top. Gull was reminded of Towser's gown, with its ascending stripes. For a few seconds, the mushroom-monster stood bathed in multicolored light. Then it collapsed onto itself, withered, and sank into the ground.
Leaving no trace.
Gull sat up, propped by one hand. The distant bonfire had died, unattended. The black riders were gone, as were the dark wagons, the lions, the avatar, the smoke, the skeletal goblins, the nightmare. Only a jumble of zombies and a meandering wall of swords, pitifully thin, remained.
The battle was over.
From his perch on the wagon seat, Towser peered around the horizon. The sun leaked through shattered trees in the east. The warm light was encouraging, for it revealed the brave greenery, the renewal of hope.
'We beat him!' the wizard crowed. 'Let's pack up and git!'
But the sunrise, and the return to sanity and normalcy, also revealed the aftermath of battle: wreckage, wounds, and ruin.
Most of the entourage had only slept a few hours after a day of digging, then suffered a night of fighting. They were baggy-eyed, bruised, dirty, half-naked, crow-voiced. Gull couldn't count his wounds: a triple rake on the shoulder that needed the nurse's stitching, a pinked ham, scabby forehead, sore ribs, mashed fingers, and more.
Yet they must move on. Though Towser wouldn't confirm their suspicions, the mana vault might attract magicians from miles around, as Morven speculated.
As Felda spiced ale and sliced bacon for breakfast, the bodyguards and Gull inspected the chuck wagon. It was a loss. Axles and wheels were broken, the side smashed, the tongue snapped off. They righted the men's wagon, which was intact, and pushed it alongside. They hauled out the bodyguard's rucksacks and bedrolls-soldiers of fortune, they owned little-and hung them outside the wagon. The bodyguards would have to sleep outdoors in cold and wet and mosquitoes.
Silently they transferred the chuck supplies to the new wagon. Most cooking goods were intact, being of iron, but plates and crocks and bottle had smashed, barrels had leaked, some dry goods had spoiled. There was room enough in the new wagon, though things were heaped on the floor instead of nesting in cupboards, and everyone feared short rations later.
All went smoothly until Gull, exhausted, stumbled and banged shoulders with Kem. Instantly, every man dropped his goods and reached for a knife, Gull for his drover's whip.
Kem the Scarfaced growled, 'You're too clumsy for this work, shit shoveler! Let men finish the job!'
'I didn't see you slay any dragons last night!' Gull grated. 'Were you guarding the women from the rear?'
'Gut him, Kem!' shouted pretty-boy Chad, too loud. Their dulled nerves were rasped raw. 'I can handle the horses! Let him feed beetles!'
Morven shifted his feet. 'You're fast with your mouth, Chad, urging others to brawl. Mayhap you'd dance a hornpipe with me-'
Actually, Gull thought, if anyone swung a fist, he'd probably fall down and stay down. Then a high-pitched shout from Towser interrupted them. 'I don't pay you to stand and talk! You're all docked a day's wages! Knoton, take note! And next time'll be a week!'
None answered back. It was only the generous pay that kept them here. With snorts and muttered threats, they picked up tools and victuals. Kem hissed, 'We'll settle later, Gullshit!'
'You'll talk me to death, eh, Kem-pletely Helpless?' Gull threw his load inside and stalked off to count livestock.
Only a half dozen animals had returned to camp. The rest were scattered through the forest. Gull needed help, and said so to the clerk. Sorting his own papers and supplies, Knoton nodded. 'Take Jonquil. She came from a ranch and knows how to ride. And Chad. He worked with horses on the plains. And the bard. She can do everything.'
So Gull got the yellow-bedecked Jonquil, a big woman with solid arms and legs and large hands and feet, freckles and red-gold hair, as well as the berib-boned bard, Ranon Spiritsinger. Civil enough under Towser's eye, Chad agreed to hunt south in the woods for the animals, while Gull and Jonquil would hunt north near the crater. Everyone rode bareback, for there were no saddles. They used the long wagon traces as reins, which meant a lot of leather draped over the withers. For the pain in his rump and the burn in his shoulder, Gull had to hold the animal's mane too.
With the forest so open, it didn't take Gull long to locate two stray mules, a pair of horses normally yoked together, two black cavalry horses with shiny black saddles and tack, as well as his axe, which lay near the rim of the pit where he'd hurled it at the black captain. He frowned at the dew rust on the blade.
'Is that him down there?' asked Jonquil. Her voice was plain and uncultured, not trained for singing. She reminded Gull of the farm girls of White Ridge, and- a pang-the lost Cowslip. A sturdy finger pointed into the crater where sprawled a black corpse.
'Aye.' Gull picketed the black horses to a lead. 'Something will eat him soon enough.'
Jonquil swung from the saddle with easy, if chunky, grace. 'He won't need whatever's in his purse, then.'
As Gull worked, she slid down the crater and looted the body. Upon her return, he asked, 'Find anything?'
'Not much.' She brushed back her hair, but her casual air was forced. Idly Gull wondered how much the captain had carried. He should have looked himself. But warfare-and scavenging-were still new.
'Here. You can have this.' She handed Gull a sheathed knife. Curious, he took it, then remembered. It had caught fire last night. The handle was jet, black leather wrapped with black wire. The pommel was diamond- shaped: a skullpopper. He drew the long white blade gingerly, expecting it to flare up, but nothing happened. Had the enchantment been linked to the man's life force? Shrugging, he tucked it in his belt, thanked her. Though he guessed she'd never have surrendered it, had she known it was magic.
