Shadow fighting NailBiter.
The glacier itself was a rock pile, with only small traces of ice showing and deadly teeth looming unexpectedly out of the night. Some of the boulders were as large as Hiando Keep, small mountains. Those giants provided lee air and slightly easier flying for a moment--and then made up for the respite with the icy fury of their turbulent edge winds.
Shadow had lost all count of time, and he had no idea how long the battle went on, until he suddenly realized that the ground was right there in front of him, and NailBiter grabbed a rock and stopped. He was finished--a bird could not carry a man far on muscle power. Shadow was lying prone, with his head against the feathered back, and he could hear the pounding heart.
They rested, man and bird, as the wind moaned its triumph and dug ice talons deeper into Shadow's bones. When NailBiter's pulse rate had dropped to a more normal level, Shadow moved to the next stage. He took a sheep's leg from his baggage and tossed it forward.
Two minutes later they were airborne once more--the mutton had been doped with a trace of batmeat. In very small doses it acted as a stimulant. That was how his predecessor had died, he remembered, when some young aristocrat had tried the trick while in the prince's company. The difference between stimulation and madness was razor-narrow, and now he risked the same fate as Vindax, if he and Vonimor had misjudged the amount.
But even batmeat had its limits. Four times he doped his eagle and NailBiter surged forth with new strength. But Vak and Shadow had agreed that four was the most they could risk--a dead bird would be of little use. The final dose produced only a short progress, from which NailBiter took a long time to recover, crouching low to his rock and trembling violently. He could fly no farther.
The frozen desert of dark and rock and cold still held them, sloping more steeply now, but still they had not reached the crest of the pass. There was only one desperate measure still to try.
'Good old buddy,' Shadow said. 'You've done your best. Now for a new trick.'
NailBiter had never been taught kiting; Shadow had never seen it done. He untied his coil of rope and grapnel, slid from the saddle, and started to walk, scrambling in the dark over the boulders. Every step was a torment for tortured lungs, and he needed to stop frequently just to get breath.
When he guessed that he had come far enough, he wedged the grapnel between two rocks and started to return, paying out rope, stumbling, falling, panting...Idiot! He should have tied the other end first. What if he could not find the bird? The thin air was shriveling his brain.
But he did find NailBiter, and with fingers already numb inside his mitts, he fastened the other end of the rope to the saddle girths. He threw the rest of it loose on the ground, climbed aboard again, and took a hard grip on the end closest to the grapnel.
'Okay, Naily,' he muttered. 'Let's kill ourselves.'
He made the signal that meant 'spread wings,' and bird and rider whirled upward while Shadow let the rope run through his mitts, waiting nervously for the jerk when it was all gone. NailBiter sensed the drag of the rope and almost panicked. Shadow needed about four extra hands, but somehow he kept control. Then came the jerk, spinning the eagle around, and for a moment Shadow thought they would be smashed down against the rocks.
They were not; the rope did not get tangled around the bird's neck; the grapnel held. Now NailBiter was a kite--the wind lifted him, and the rope held him. Man and bird rose higher and higher until the tether was very close to vertical. Then Shadow called for a dive. That was the trickiest part of all, for the rope must now stay slack or it would slingshot them into the rocks below. They landed roughly, and NailBiter showed every sign of wanting to become hysterical; Shadow stroked his comb and muttered words of comfort that he knew could not be heard.
He tugged on the rope, but he could never be so lucky as to retrieve it that way. He clambered down and started to walk. It was not walking, it was rock climbing, but at last he reached the end of the rope, collected the grapnel, and started back. Now it was rock climbing and rope coiling combined. He reeled and choked in the thin air, but at least the exercise helped warm him a little, and eventually he was back beside the huddled shape of his mount.
Again he stumbled forward and planted the grapnel between two monoliths.
Two steps forward and one back--time and again he kited, walking his bird up the glacier. NailBiter caught the idea of it, as he always did, but showed no signs of enjoying the process. Shadow's mind was blank with fatigue, his feet and hands numb, and NailBiter was trembling and rebellious. Several times the grapnel slipped and then caught again, jarring bird and rider and threatening to snap the girth. The hardest part of all was paying out the rope away from NailBiter, for feathers and bird skin were not designed to resist friction, and if a wing became entangled, then their adventure would end at once. At last a sudden agony in Shadow's hand told him that his mitt had worn through. He let go by reflex, and the end of the rope came with a jarring crash--the rocks were close below and very nearly caught them.
That was enough. When that last kite soar and dive were done, Shadow knew that he must stop. Perhaps some food and sleep would revive him enough to try again. Perhaps a break would even revive his bird enough for some more flying. They could go no farther now. The top of the pass must be very close, but it would have to wait.
They were lucky. They had landed in the lee of a huge rock, and the ground beneath was relatively smooth, although anywhere else he would have called it a rock pile. NailBiter needed little urging to crouch down like a brooding hen; no doubt he was just as tired and hungry and frightened as his rider, although he would be suffering much less from the cold and the lack of air.
Without dismounting, Shadow reached into his baggage and pulled out NailBiter's reward: one last, undoped sheep leg, a mere snack. He opened the blinkers and tossed the meat forward.
Now Shadow climbed down, which was easy when NailBiter was crouched. He was shaking so much with cold that he could hardly unfasten the saddle, but it would be unfair to leave it on any longer. He pulled it around and spread it below the great curve of the yellow beak, which was still higher than his head. He sat down on it and cuddled close to the feathery chest to eat. The food was frozen solid, and so was his canteen. He should have guessed.
Sleep first, then, and thaw out the food at the same time. In an emergency, an eagle made a very good tent. It would not be the first time he had played egg to NailBiter, for that was part of standard Guard training.
He found the bird hood and he had to stand on tiptoe to work it over NailBiter's head. He unfastened the helmet and let it fall.
'There, Naily,' he muttered. 'You have a nice nap, also, and we'll try again.' He reached up and rubbed the comb.
His arm spread the bag. The wind caught it and whipped it off and took it away.
In his numbed, air-starved confusion, he had forgotten to tighten the drawstring.
Shadow found himself looking into the huge golden eye of an eagle at a range of about a foot. He had never done that. He had never heard of anyone else doing that and living to tell of it. He froze--and for a long moment nothing seemed to happen in the world.
Hopefully he continued to rub the bird's comb, but he felt no answering rumble of pleasure. NailBiter was probably as surprised as he was.
At least, Shadow thought, he had undressed the bird. Once he had digested his meal, NailBiter would be free to fly back to IceFire. His chances of reaching Allaban had been slim anyway, Shadow told himself. He was destined to die in this hellish cold, rock-infested darkness, and this way he would provide his bird with nourishment and one of them would escape.
Still no attack?
Shadow lowered his hand. Very slowly he crouched, fumbling around his feet to find the helmet. Was it possible that he could get it back in position before the beak bit him in half?
NailBiter bent his head and nudged, and Shadow fell flat on his face.
Then there was another long pause.
'Well, get on with it, you idiot!' he yelled. 'Don't play with your supper!'
NailBiter started to rock, shuffling forward awkwardly, first one foot and then the other. Then a great wing scooped--and Shadow found himself in a warm, musty darkness, pressed between wing and breast, downy feathers tickling his face. The saddle was still below him, and NailBiter was above and all around. The wailing of the wind
