Again from the crags above them came the eerie scream of a banshee; it was closer now, and Romilly felt the throbbing, eldritch wail going all through her, as if her very bones were shuddering at the sound. She knew how the natural prey of the bird must feel; it seemed to stop her in her tracks, to wipe out the world around so that there was nothing except that dreadful vibration, which seemed to make her eyes blur and the world go dark around her. Caryl moaned and dug his hands over his ears with an agonized shiver, and she could see the men ahead of them fighting to control their terrified horses while the sentry-birds flapped, and the chervines made their odd bawling cry and stepped around, almost prancing with terror, on the icy path. One of them stumbled and went down and the rider fell, sliding some way before he could dig his heels into the ice and stand up, scrambling to catch his riding-animal; another beast piled into him and there was a clumsy sprawling collision. Swearing, they fought with the reins. The screaming of the hooded sentry-birds, their bating wings, added to the dismay, and again the eerie terror-filled banshee scream shuddered out from the crags above, and was answered by yet another.
Romilly gave Caryl a little shake. “Stop that!” she demanded furiously. “Help me, help me quiet the birds!” Her own breath was coming ragged, she could see it steaming in the icy air, but she put her mind swiftly to reaching out with that special sense of hers, and sending thoughts of calm, peace, food, affection. She could reach them still; as she felt Caryl’s thoughts join with hers, one after another the great birds quieted, were still on their blocks on the saddles, and Carlo and his men could get the riding-animals under control again. Carlo gestured to them to gather close – the path widened here just enough that three or four of the animals could stand abreast, and they gathered in a little bunch.
The crags above them were beginning to stand out stark against the paling sky; pink and purple clouds outlined the blackness of the rocks of the pass. Dawn was near. The trail above them narrowed and led across the glacier; and even as they looked, a clumsy shadow moved on the face of the rocks, and again there came the terrible wailing scream, answered by another from higher up. Orain compressed his narrow lips and said wryly, “Just what we needed; two of the damned things! And daylight still a good hour away – and even when the sun comes up, we might not escape them. And we can’t wait anyway; if there’s pursuit we should be away and across the path before full daylight, and well to the other side where the woods will conceal our traces! A blind man would be able to read our tracks on ice, and Lyondri’s sure to have half a dozen of his damned leroni with him!”
“We’re in the very mouth of the trap,” Carlo muttered, his face going silent and distant. He said at last, into the silence, “No pursuit, at least not yet – I need no leronis to tell me so
much. You were a damned fool to bring the boy, Alaric – with him to follow, Lyondri will follow us though the track led through all nine of Zandru’s hells! Now he has a second and personal grudge!”
“If the boy’s with us,” Alaric said, his teeth set tight, “we can buy our lives, at least!”
Caryl drew himself upright on the saddle and said angrily, “My father would not compromise his honor for his son’s life, and I would not want him to!”
“Lyondri’s honor?” growled one of the men, “The sweet breath of the banshee, the welcoming climate of Zandru’s ninth hell!”
“I will not hear you say-” Caryl began, but Romilly caught him around the waist before he could physically climb down the saddle and attack the speaker, and Carlo said quietly, “Enough, Caryl. A sentiment seemly for Lyondri’s son, lad, but we have no time for babble. Somehow we must get across the path, and though I have no will to hurt you, if you can’t keep your tongue behind your teeth, I fear you must be gagged; my men are in no mood to hear a defense of one who has set a price on our heads. And you, Garan, and you, Alaric, you shut your faces too; it’s not well done to mock a child about his father’s honor, and there’s harder work ahead of us than quarreling with a little boy!” He looked up again as the. shrilling shriek of the banshee drowned their voices, and Romilly saw his whole body tense in the effort to conquer the purely physical fear that screaming cry created in their minds. Romilly hugged Caryl tight, not sure whether it was to comfort the child or to still her own fears, whispering, “Help me quiet the animals.” It was well to give him something to think about except his own terror.