The Blackgod

The Crow God slowly shook his Human-seeming head. “Not yet Not until we are too close for him to stop us.”

“Then Ngangata and I lead; the place you describe can be reached other ways than the one we are going. If the way is longer, then we must go now rather than argue. Leave a few of your men here with plenty of arrows to stop the Mang from coming up that trail. Tell them to give us a good head start and then leave, before they can be surrounded.”

Karak pursed his lips, annoyance plain on his face, but then he nodded brusquely and shouted the orders, moving off to choose his men.

“Well,” Ngangata appraised, “I wondered if you had left us again.”

“Soon enough, friend,” Perkar told him. “But not just yet.”

A moment later they were back on the move, their mounts scrambling across the trackless ridge. Mang war whoops seemed to be everywhere, and Perkar watched the tightness gather in Brother Horse's face. Difficult as it was, moving in and amongst trees, Perkar maneuvered close enough to the old man to hold a shouted conversation.

“You've done more than anyone can expect of you,” Perkar shouted. “I urge you to leave us now. No one should have to fight his own people.”

“I know what I am about,” Brother Horse snapped back at him, though he was plainly agitated. “Save your concern. I will not turn on you; I have cast my lot. If I am fortunate, I will not have to slay any of my kinsmen. But what goes on here is more important than any claims on blood.”

“I never thought to hear a Mang say that,” Perkar admitted.

Brother Horse set his face in a deep scowl. “If you search for an enemy among us,” the old man growled, “best to start in your own heart.”

“What do you mean by that?” Perkar shouted.

Brother Horse lifted one hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I don't know,” he answered. “But the last few leagues have brought me uneasiness about you.”

Perkar urged his mount ahead, angry and confused. How dare the old fool question him, when it was Mang who rode for the Changeling—the enemy of them all.

Ngangata was pacing close behind; their horses broke from run to canter and back as the leaves slapped at them. Perkar was vividly reminded of the last time he had ridden these ridges, fleeing the Huntress. Then, of course, they had been fighting to escape Balat and its mysteries; now they strove to reach its heart.

“Our pursuit is gaining more quickly than I thought they could,” Ngangata yelled over to him. “I think they split even before we saw them.”

“How many, can you tell?”

“Many. Hundreds, coming from possibly three directions.”

“How far do we have to go?”

“Too far, from Karak's description.”

Perkar smiled savagely. “How long have you known who our friend 'Sheldu' really is?”

Ngangata laughed coarsely. “Almost since you have. I read it on your face. And you've gone fey again.” He stabbed his finger at Perkar. “You aren't thinking of riding back against them?”

Perkar shook his head. “No. I mean, I did think about it, but what would be the point? Most would just go around me. If there were a narrow pass to hold, or if I could reach their head—Moss, or that— thing …” He turned fiercely in his saddle. ”I will warn you of this, my friend. If I see an opportunity to slay the creature from Nhol, I will take it. Do you understand that?”

“No,” Ngangata replied frankly, “but I can accept it.”

“Good.”

Perkar spent the next hundred heartbeats fighting his way to the front of the column. Hezhi still looked dazed, but Tsem's horse could not bear even her tiny additional weight, and so she rode up behind Yuu'han. In fact, the Giant's massive charger quivered so that Perkar feared it would collapse any moment. Then what would Tsem do? Of course, soon all of the horses would be useless enough to any of them; even T'esh was near exhausted. And Sharp Tiger, pacing placidly and stubbornly behind him, would be no help to anyone.

The howls behind him were drawing nearer.

Even Karak seemed concerned, glancing nervously around.

“You could stop them,” Perkar pointed out.

“That isn't my place,” the Raven answered testily. “We are too close to our goal now. I can almost taste our victory. If I reveal my power, if I uncloak myself here, now, Balati might notice all of this going on. Who knows what he would then do? I don't.”

“If we are all slain—” Perkar began.

But Karak interrupted. “You and the rest could purchase some time for me and Hezhi,” he said. “She is the crucial one. Only she matters.”

“There aren't enough of us,” Perkar snapped. “They would flow around us like the River they serve. My companions and your men together would slow them down not at all.”

“It will come to it soon enough. Then I may have to reveal myself,” Karak said. “But I won't until I must.”

“You mean until the rest of us are dead and yoxxfly with Hezhi from here.”

“Yes, now that you mention it, that is what I mean. But let us hope it doesn't come to that.”

At that moment, Ngangata raised his bow and shrieked, and his cry was echoed by a half score of Karak's men. For a moment, Perkar feared that the Mang had caught up with them, but then he saw the truth; ahead of them, the trees bristled with spears and bows. The dark, lean forms of wolves coursed between the great trunks restlessly, and more warriors than could easily be counted. They stretched out along the ridge as far as Perkar could see, utterly blocking their way.

GHE dug his talons into his palms, calling on all that remained of his self-control. The outriders had discovered Qwen Shen and Bone Eel. He could be upon them in instants, if he wished, take himself up on pinions of wind. Yet Moss warned him not to, and with greatest reluctance he conceded the young shaman's expertise. Though he felt that nothing could resist his power, Moss assured him that such was not the case—and indeed, whatever black arts Qwen Shen and her doltish husband controlled had not only concealed them and allowed them to steal Ghan away, but it had also made them exceedingly difficult to follow. Even now he could not sense where they were, though Moss assured him that they were not far, that before the day was done his army of Mang would encircle the whole lot of them, Hezhi and her pet demon included. Then there would be fighting enough.

“What we cannot do,” Moss had insisted, “is allow our eagerness and anger to separate us. My spirits and I have woven a hundred spells to keep from awaking the Forest Lord and to protect us from the other things that haunt this wood. If you go off alone, you will only have your power to protect you. You have much raw strength, but there are gods here who have more, gods you will not easily dispense with. Together we have a chance, you and I.”

So even though Hezhi was so near, he must cultivate patience.

Death came to him on the breeze: Mang warriors, bravely daring the winding trail up which Qwen Shen, Bone Eel, and Ghan had fled. At the top, someone was defending the precarious pathway. He felt their lives flicker and go out, and amongst them—someone else dying—someone familiar.

“Worry not, Moss,” he told his companion. “I'll go no farther than the outriders. But there is something ahead I must see.”

“Have a care,” Moss cautioned. “Whatever you sense, it could well be a trap.”

“I know. But somehow I don't think so.” He dismounted and, like a hound following a familiar scent, raced off into the scrubby, evergreen foliage of the slope. Whatever it was was fading, fading, and almost it was gone before he reached it. Yet it was stubborn, and when he found the source he knew he should have recognized it by that alone.

Ghan's broken body lay curled around a tree in a sort of reverse fetal position, his back bent completely the wrong way. One eye stared open and empty and the other was closed by the crushing of one side of his skull. Only