erupted from all of them. A heavy wash of foul air swept over Garth.
He glanced over his shoulder to see the leader being lifted up into the trees in a great black fist. His jungle boots dangled, dribbling moist earth. The hand-cannon barked twice, then there was a crunching sound. The body dropped down into the undergrowth beside Garth, flopping unnaturally like a crushed doll.
Running back toward the road, the other men fired their rifles in panic. Garth had to fight an overwhelming urge to join them in their flight. His rider helped him lay still; sending soothing, numbing sensations down his spine to his legs.
The men were caught up in massive fists and borne aloft into the red hork treetops. The incredibly thick trunks shuddered and swayed with the passage of a huge shadowy form. The foliage thrashed and branches snapped. A single heavy grunt sounded from far above.
Silence reigned over the jungle for several minutes. Not even the most brazen of the cackle-grouse dared to cry out. During this entire time, Garth continued to lay supine on the moss-bed, trying to ignore the stream of marcher-bugs that had decided to use his back as a shortcut.
“Is it gone?” came a whisper.
Garth shifted his head a fraction in surprise. His eyes slid upward as far as they could and he made out the pallid bare feet of Kris only a few feet away across the jungle floor. She too, lay motionless, feigning death.
“It watches us,” he whispered back. “It’s somewhere above, crouching in the treetops.”
Both of them were silent for a time, listening to the wild sounds of the jungle. Evening was coming and the howlers were beginning their twilight serenade. Talking became more feasible with the covering cacophony of sound.
“I’m sorry to have led these men to chase you. It seemed so imperative that I told them anything to gain their aid.”
“Now you have gained only their deaths and perhaps ours as well,” replied Garth, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“Tuux and I apologize to you and Fryx.”
Garth’s lips curled back in disgust. “It was Tuux that coerced you into following me. I accept nothing from any of his kind.”
“You are indeed a rogue.”
“Yes,” replied Garth, blinking back exhaustion. “For so long as I can remain awake.”
They were both silent for a time, listening for movement in the distant treetops. The light that filtered down to the jungle floor dwindled somewhat with the approach of nightfall, but the heat continued, relentless.
Suddenly, something occurred to Garth. He half-turned to face Kris before checking himself. He noted that she was only partially covered by her torn clothing and quite attractive, even in her disheveled state. “How did you know I carry Fryx?” he demanded.
“The greatness of your stripe,” Kris said with the tiniest of shrugs.
“No, no,” he said, laying his head back down in the moss. “Many riders are as large. You reported me back to the greatest of the skalds, back in their shrines. From my description and whereabouts they identified me. I have no doubt that you told the Jarl himself.”
Kris made no attempt to answer.
“Soon, they will hunt for me, and due to your proximity, they will expunge you as well. Consorting with a rogue can be infectious. We will both be handled roughly.”
Kris, knowing the truth of his words, wept quietly for a time.
Garth chided himself not to soften. He refused to even look at her. Lying on the jungle floor, listening to the howlers and feeling the steady tread of the marcher-bugs, Garth slid helplessly into the oblivion of sleep for the first time in days.
Fryx awoke when Kris cried out. It was still dark, but the howlers had fallen silent. Near at hand, he caught a glimpse of Kris’ pallid form rising up swiftly into the air. Fryx goaded Garth’s exhausted body into flight, but he too was snatched up in a hairy black fist. Moving with sickening speed, the jungle ape bore them hundreds of feet up into the hork trees. Sure-footedly, it trotted along branches as wide as highways, leaping from tree to tree.
The constricting fingers held him so tightly and the beast’s stench was so foul that Fryx had difficulty forcing Garth to retain consciousness. His terror of the crude outer creatures had never been greater. Soon, he felt sure, he would have to abandon the crushed husk of Garth’s body. A rider feared little more than being exposed to the open air and unknowable dangers of breathing creatures. He would most assuredly wither and perish, an ignoble ending to a magnificent life span filled with philosophical achievement. It was enough to set his spines to quivering.
In desperation, Fryx did his utmost to reach out to the monster, to touch its brutish mind and perhaps nudge it in the proper fashion. He did his best to generate an aura of curiosity about Garth, suggesting that perhaps this creature was fascinating and worthy of study.
Whether due to his feeble efforts at telepathy or to some other dark motive of its own, the ape didn’t kill them out of hand. Instead it deposited the two humans in its nest, a stinking bowl of mud, leaves, half-eaten carcasses and feces.
Gasping, Fryx sought Kris and led her up to a more wholesome spot in the nest, presumably the spot where the animal slept. Under the scrutiny of a shadowy mound of flesh, they curled up together, massaging their bruised ribs. After a minute or two, during which they could only listen to and smell the bellowing breath of the giant simian, it made its decision. Leaping backward smoothly, it fell out into open space. They heard branches below creak and swish as the creature caught itself and moved away through the treetops.
Kris rolled apart from him and sighed in relief. “I believed myself dead. How will we ever get down?”
Fryx allowed Garth to say nothing. His hold on his host had disintegrated greatly of late. Allowing the rogue’s speech centers to operate was out of the question. Even interpreting her words was an unwelcome strain. Eyes bulging in the darkness, he reached out and grasped her wrists.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, squirming to get away.
Fryx drove Garth to climb on top of her, ignoring her efforts to escape. Their touch allowed him to communicate with Tuux, and Kris immediately quieted. Her rider allowed Kris to shed her human inhibitions and she quickly became amorous. In the way of communion between skalds of opposite sexes, they mated most vigorously on the crude bed of moldering hork-leaves and black animal hair.
The next morning found them entwined together with the cackle-grouse making a great deal of noise in the treetops around them. The bald ape, to the best of their knowledge, had not returned.
Garth was surprised to find that he was in command of himself. He suspected that Fryx had been over-taxed by the previous evening’s activities and had receded somewhat to recover. Maintaining control of the skald’s body was a constant mental battle for both of them.
“Look, there’s blood here,” he pointed out to Kris. “Fresh blood, and yet no signs of a recent kill.”
Kris shrugged disinterestedly. She kept her eyes lowered. Her limp white hair hung in her face.
“Maybe the beast was badly wounded yesterday,” said Garth with fresh hope. “Perhaps it could even have died during the night.”
“Or perhaps it is only the blood of the men I led to their deaths.”
“Ah, disregard that,” Garth chided her gently. He turned to her and noticed her sullen appearance. “You were goaded by your rider-as we both were last night.”
She turned away from him further.
“You’re upset about our communion?” asked Garth quietly. He felt a small knot of guilt. He had enjoyed the activities, but not the way they had come about.
“I am embarrassed.”
Garth nodded. “Put it out of your mind. Or better yet, use it to turn rogue against your rider.”
She whirled on him. Her white hair shone in the sun. “That’s why I’m upset. This whole thing has got me thinking like you. The philosophies of my rider now seem like nothing but idle platitudes. It is clear that association with a rogue is indeed dangerous.”
Garth shrugged and climbed to stand on the rim of the nest. “It makes no difference to those who will now
