its massive counterparts in the caves without, the Sphinxes. But
the Asphinx was a creature of flesh and blood until it struck.
Only then did it turn to stone.
And whatever it struck turned to stone as well.
Walker’s teeth clenched against what he saw happening His
hand was already turning gray, the Asphinx still wrapped firmly
about it, dead now and hardened, cemented against the floor of
the compartment in a tight spiral from which it could not be
broken loose.
Walker Boh pulled violently against the creature’s grasp. But
there was no escape. He was embedded in stone, fastened to
the Asphinx and the cavern floor as surely as if by chains.
Fear ripped through him, tearing at him as a knife edge might
his flesh He was poisoned. Just as his hand was turning to
stone, so would the rest of him. Slowly. Inexorably.
Until he was a statue.
XXIX
Dawn at the Jut brought a change in the weather as the
leading edge of the storm that was passing through
Tyrsis drifted north into the Parma Key. It was still
dark when the first cloud banks began to blanket the skies, blot-
ting out the moon and stars and turning the whole of the night
an impenetrable black. Then the wind died, its whisper fading
away almost before anyone still awake in the outlaw camp no-
ticed it was gone, and the air became still and sullen. A few
drops fell, splashing on the upturned faces of the watch, spat-
tering onto the dry, dusty rock of the bluff in widening stains.
Everything grew hushed as the drops came quicker. Steam rose
off the floor of the forestland below, lifting above the treetops
to mix with the clouds until mere was nothing left to see, even
with the sharpest eyes. When dawn finally broke, it came as a
line of brightness along the eastern horizon so faint that it went
almost unnoticed. By then, the rain was falling steadily, a heavy
drizzle that sent everyone scurrying for shelter, including the
watch.
Which was why no one saw the Creeper.
It must have come out of the forest under cover of darkness
and begun working its way up the cliffside when the clouds took
away the only light that would have revealed its presence. There
were sounds of scraping as it climbed, the rasp of its claws and
armor-plating as it dragged itself upward, but the sounds were
lost in the rumble of distant thunder, the splatter of the rain, and
the movement of men and animals in the camps. Besides, the
outlaws on watch were tired and irritable and convinced that
nothing was going to happen before dawn.
The Creeper was almost on top of them before they realized
their mistake and began to scream.
The cries brought Morgan Leah awake with a start. He had
fallen asleep in the grove of aspen at the far end of the bluff,
still mulling over what to do about his suspicions as to the iden-
tity of the traitor. He was curled in a ball under the canopy of
the largest tree, his hunting cloak wrapped about him for
wamith. His muscles were so sore and cramped that at first he
could not bring himself to stand. But the cries grew quickly
more frantic, filled with terror. Ignoring his own discomfort, he
forced himself to his feet, pulled free the broadsword he had
strapped to his back. and stumbled out into the rain.
The bluff was in pandemonium. Men were charging back and
forth everywhere, weapons drawn, dark shadows in a world of
grayness and damp. A few torches appeared, bright beacons
against the black, but their flames were extinguished almost
immediately by the downpour. Morgan hurried ahead, follow-
ing the tide, searching the gloom for the source of the madness.
And then the saw it. The Creeper was atop the bluff, rearing
out of the chasm, looming over the outlaw fortifications and the
men who threatened it, its claws digging into the rock to hold it
fast. A dead man dangled from one of its massive pinchers, cut
nearly in half-one of the watch who had realized what was
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