Gene yawned, too. 'Jeez, don't do that.'
'I'm sleepy.'
'Me, too.' Gene lay down, resting his head on Snowclaw's abdomen. He yawned again. 'Sheesh.'
'Sure is peaceful,' Snowy murmured.
'Yeah. Sure is. Only goes to show you, no need for weapons, or fighting, or… any of that… stuff… ' Snowclaw emitted a loud snore.
Gene chuckled faintly. 'Peace,' he intoned.
A bird answered him with a lilting melody. A bee buzzed by his ear.
'Ain't it the truth,' Gene said, eyes closed. The ground began to rumble.
Gene opened one eye. 'Eh?'
The sound increased. The earth shook. Gene sat up. Then Snowclaw did, too. They looked at each other.
'Uh-oh,' both said in unison.
They came over the hill, a thousand men on horseback streaming over the crest like a wave, foaming like surf, a surge of horseflesh, leather, and metal, a sea of hard faces under spiked helmets, bodies wrapped tight in chainmail and embossed cuirasses, a tide of thumping hooves and rattling sabers, clods of earth flying, dust billowing. The entire phenomenon flowed down the hill in a noisy flood.
Gene was transfixed, looking up the hill. Snowy sprang to his feet, ready for action but bewildered by the sudden change of circumstances.
Pitiful bleating drew Gene's attention to the side of the hill. The sheep were being mercilessly trampled. Aghast, he watched helplessly.
Snowy's roar tore his gaze away.
A mounted barbarian was headed straight for them, charging full tilt down the hill. In his right hand he held a curved sword, a sabre, raised and ready to strike. His face was painted in red and purple stripes. He seemed a mean sort of bloke.
Gene rose and stepped away from Snowy. The attacker would have to choose his target. His sword arm was on Gene's side, leaving himself vulnerable to Snowy's white, razor claws on the left. If Snowy could dismount him, they'd have a horse and could possibly get away. It was worth a try. Now, Gene's only task was to duck the horseman's mighty stroke. He went up on the balls of his feet, ready for the requisite sudden leap….
The crack of doom sounded as sudden sharp pain assailed the back of Gene's head.
The world grew dark. Blackness.
Nothingness….
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In the next village he found two days' work sweeping out a cobbler's shop. The cobbler gave him some scrap leather to sell, which brought enough to consult a philosopher. Rance needed all the philosophical help he could get.
HIDES TANNED
CROCKERY MENDED
WE BUY AND SELL ITEMS OF UNUSUAL INTEREST
NATURAL PHILOSOPHER
— FORTUNES READ-
SPELLS CAST
BENARUS, PROP.
Thus the sign read.
The place was stuffed with old furniture and curios. Rance picked his way to the rear and rang a small silver bell. Nothing happened for a long moment.
Then a white-haired, hook-nosed man of middle age came out from behind a tattered curtain and took a seat behind the counter.
'Something I can put over on you?'
'I have a problem.'
The man-Benarus, presumably-took off his spectacles and wiped them with a dirty white cloth. 'Most people do. Of what sort is yours?'
'I have a curse on me.'
The little man's dark eyes widened. 'Curse, is it? What sort of curse, and how did you come by it?'
'The bad-luck sort, good for a lifetime. I came by it in the valley of the Zinites.'
Benarus nodded. 'Ah, I've heard of those. Good luck to you.'
Rance grimaced. 'Is that all you have to offer?'
Benarus's eyes narrowed. 'Are you of noble birth?'
'I am.'
Benarus looked him over. 'So the curse works all too well.'
'Well enough.'
The philosopher.got up. 'Let's see what the stars portend for you. Perhaps we can see a way clear to abrogating the curse. But I warn you, it will cost.'
'I have very little.'
Benarus stroked his beard. 'Your estate?'
'It soon will be in receivership.'
Benarus shrugged. 'Then, I am afraid…'
Rance laid three silver pieces on the worn wooden counter. 'Are these worth a sidereal analysis of my plight?'
Benarus scooped them up. 'They will have to do, for the moment. If the curse comes off and your fortunes take an upturn, more will be expected. Much more.'
'In that case, more will be forthcoming,' Rance said.
'That's what they all say. Come back.'
Benarus led the way through the curtain and into a small room. Star charts lined the walls. Sundry odd instruments occupied a table to the rear. A larger table stood in the middle of the room. On it lay maps, charts, books, and other scholarly apparatus.
'It is strange,' Rance said as he took a seat, 'that all depends on the heavens.'
'All power derives from the universe at large,' Benarus said.
'But the natural philosophy in use down here-'
'Is but a transform of universal forces. Be quiet and let me get started.'
After asking Rance his birth date and questioning him about the circumstances of his upbringing, Benarus busied himself among books, maps, and charts. Rance looked around the room. Scholarly things put him off. He had been bred to regard such activity as beneath men of quality. At the same time he secretly held learned men in high regard, even envy.
Benarus worked in silence. Rance became bored and studied patterns in the carpet.
'Wait just a damned minute here.' Benarus wiped off his glasses, put them on, and reapplied a compass to a set of coordinates on a chart.
'Gods. It can't be.' Benarus jumped to his feet.
Alarmed, Rance rose. 'What is it?'
'Run!'
'Why?'
'Get out of my way!' Benarus pushed past him and fled through the curtain.
Rance followed him outside. He was not a second too early.
