The Blackgod

within him was there any sign of his life, the filaments of his ghost even now fading and detaching from his ruined flesh. Ghe stared, wondering that he could feel any sorrow at all for such an annoying, dangerous old man, but he did. It was a sight that made little sense, the dignified scholar whose pen formed such esoteric and beautiful characters lying here, hundreds of leagues from any writing desk, in a forest, broken and arrow pierced.

Gingerly he reached out and tugged at the strands, pulled them free of a body that would serve now only to feed beasts and the black soil. He took the ghost and settled it into its own place amongst the august company of gods, an emperor, and a blind boy.

There, old man. At last I have you.

What? the spirit feebly replied. What has happened? Where is Hezhi? I just saw her…

Hush, Ghe told him. Rest there, and I will explain all to you later. Then he closed up the doors on Ghan, for the fear and panic of the newly captured wore poorly on him, and he could not afford now to be distracted. But it would please Hezhi, he knew, that he had saved the old man. For her, he would even let the scholar speak to her through his mouth. Yes, she would be happy and grateful when he did that.

He turned; Moss had come up behind him.

“I'm sorry, old man,” the shaman told the corpse. “If you had only told me of them sooner…”

Ghe smiled sardonically. “He kept one secret too many, and now he has none at all.”

Moss shrugged, and then his eyes cleared and he gestured up the ridge with his chin. “My spirits have slain those who held the trail, and a third of my force is approaching the ridge from another direction. We'll have them soon, unless something else goes awry.”

“When we do capture them, Qwen Shen is mine,” Ghe stated flatly.

“Well enough,” Moss answered, a slight edge in his voice.

“What's wrong?” Ghe asked.

The shaman shook his head uneasily. “It seems too simple. The Blackgod must have planned more elaborately than this. I will trust nothing until we have Hezhi and have reached the River.”

“And how far is that?” Ghe asked.

“The Changeling? We are near his source, and he emerges into his upper gorge less than a league from here.” He closed his fist. “Once we have her, nothing must hinder us. If we but reach his waters, no god or power on earth will be strong enough to take her back from him.”

“They seek his headwaters,” Ghe said. “Why not simply let them reach them?”

“No, they must not go to his source. That they must not be allowed to do at any cost. And they will not. Fifty of my swiftest warriors went ahead, weeks ago, and I have but lately seen them with my eyes that travel. Should we fail here, they still stand between them and his source.”

“How did you know that was what they sought?” Ghe asked.

The gaan shook his head. “I did not. I gambled. I still could be wrong, but I don't think so, not anymore.”

“Then let us go,” Ghe said softly. “Hezhi awaits us.”

THE host in the forest regarded them but did not advance, and for fifty heartbeats, no words were spoken or moves made. Karak sat his horse impassively, and Perkar had no sense of what his reaction was. A wind sighed across the hill, and in the distance the calls of the Mang came closer with each moment.

Perkar drew Harka. He knew whose horde this was, having been once slain by it.

“Can you see the Huntress?” he asked the weapon.

“No. But that is her host. And yet I sense no danger from them. ”

“No danger?”

I do not believe they are hunting you. ”

“Who then, the Mang?”

“ Wait, ” Harka said, and then, “there. ”

Perkar let his eyes be drawn, and then he saw her, emerging from the massed might of her Hunt. When last he saw the Huntress, she had been in the aspect of a black-furred Alwa woman with antlers and the teeth of a cat. She had ridden a lioness, which he had managed to slay before she speared him.

Her aspect had changed, but there was no mistaking her. The Goddess of the Stream had once explained to him that the gods took their appearance from contact with Human Beings, especially from their blood. The Huntress, Perkar knew, had tasted much blood, Human, Alwa, and otherwise. Her present guise was Human, more or less, a pale, lithe woman with thick black hair in a single braid that fell to the backs of her knees. Her eyes were slivers of deep brown with no whites, which gave her the appearance of a statue rather than a living creature. She was naked, and in her hand bore the same spear that had once pierced his throat. As before, antlers grew from her proudly held head, these backswept like those of a fallow deer.

“Well, what a pretty host,” she sighed, and it was the same voice, the same cruel set of the mouth that Perkar remembered. She gazed on him and her smile broadened. “Few there are who escape me,” she told him. “You will not do so again, if I hunt you. I know Harka now, recall his virtue. Remember that, little one.” She walked farther from her beasts and wolf-warriors, her eyes straying to Karak and a silver laugh coming up from her throat. But she said nothing to him, instead advancing toward where Hezhi sat behind Yuu'han, watching her dully.

“Well, child, are you ready? The final race is at hand now.”

“They killed Ghan,” Hezhi said, and even as she spoke, Perkar could hear her voice awaking, transforming from shocked to fierce. “They killed my teacher.”

Tsem dismounted and interposed himself between the Huntress and Hezhi, but the goddess merely stood there, nodding at Hezhi's answer.

“There will be no final moment,” Karak said, agitated, “if we are not on our way.”

“As you say, Lord—Sheldu, is it? As you say.”

“I did not expect you,” Karak went on.

“I'm hurt,” she replied. “Hurt to think you would not invite me to such a hunt as this.”

Karak did not reply. What was going on? What sort of games were these gods playing at? But then the goddess was approaching him again, and his skin prickled, remembering the languid glee with which she had once slaughtered him.

“Well, sweet boy,” she asked, when he was close enough to see that she bore fangs like a cat and that her tongue was black, “will you ride with me or not?”

“Ride with you?”

“Against them,” she said, indicating the sounds of the Mang approaching behind them. “Someone must stop them, or your friends will never reach the source of the Changeling. But I will need help, I think—and I seem to remember your love for the hue and cry of the charge.”

“I have never cared for it,” he muttered back.

“You rode against me once, and you killed my mount, whom I loved. Now I give you a chance to ride with the Hunt. Few mortal men are accorded that pleasure—fewer still have ridden on both ends of the spear.”

Perkar gazed around at his companions. Ngangata's eyes clearly warned him no, but Karak was nodding urgently. Hezhi—he saw many things in her eyes, but was sure of none of them.

“Very well,” he said. “Yes, very well. If you promise me the Tiskawa.”

“You will find him no easy foe,” the Huntress replied. “But as you wish.”

“Wait, then, just a moment,” Perkar said. He urged T'esh over to Hezhi and gazed levelly into her eyes. She met his regard fully, and he saw that she was indeed past her shock, eyes clear and intelligent.

“If I don't see you again,” he said, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't go,” she said faintly. “Stay with me.”

He shook his head. “I can't. I have to do this. But, Hezhi—” He sidled T'esh closer and leaned in until his lips were nearly on her ear. “Watch Sheldu,” he breathed. “He is Karak, under a glamour. He knows what must be done to destroy the Changeling—but don't trust him. And be careful.” And then he lightly kissed her cheek and rode to join the Huntress.