Then the trail ended abruptly, blocked by a series of fallen
trees. A secondary pathway swung away from the river and ran
off into the deep woods. Morgan hesitated, then took it. The
trees closed about overhead, their branches shutting out all but
a trickle of moonlight, and the three friends were forced to
grope their way ahead. Morgan was muttering again, inaudibly
this time, although the tone of his voice was unmistakable. Vines
and overhanging brush were slapping at them as they passed,
and they were forced to duck their heads. The woods began to
smell oddly fetid, as if the undergrowth was decaying. Par tried
to hold his breath against the stench, irritated by its pervasive-
ness. He wanted to move faster, but Morgan was in the lead and
already moving as fast as he could.
“It’s as if something died in here,” Coil whispered from
behind him.
Something triggered in Par’s memory. He remembered the
smell that had emanated from the cottage of the woodswoman
the old man had warned them was a Shadowen. The smell here
was exactly the same.
In me next instant, they emerged from the tangle of the forest
into a clearing that was ringed by the lifeless husks of trees and
carpeted with mulch, deadwood and scattered bones. A single
stagnant pool of water bubbled at its center in the fashion of a
cauldron heated by fire. Gimlet-eyed scavengers peered out at
them from the shadows.
The companions came to an uncertain halt. “Morgan, this is
just like it was …” Par began and then stopped.
The Shadowen stepped noiselessly from the trees and faced
them. Par never questioned what it was; he knew instinctively.
Skepticism and disbelief were erased in an instant’s time, the
discarded trappings of years of certainty that Shadowen were
what practical men said they were-rumors and fireside tales.
Perhaps it was the old man’s warning whispering in his ear that
triggered his conversion. Perhaps it was simply the look of the
thing. Whatever it was, the truth that was left him was chilling
and unforgettable.
This Shadowen was entirely different than the last. It was a
huge, shambling thing, manlike but twice the size of a normal
man, its body covered in coarse, shaggy hair, its massive limbs
ending in paws that were splayed and clawed, its body hunched
over at the shoulders like a gorilla. There was a face amid all
that hair, but it could scarcely be called human. It was wrinkled
and twisted about a mouth from which teeth protruded like
stunted bones, and it hid within leathery folds eyes that peered
out with insistent dislike and burned like fire. It stood looking
at them, studying them in the manner of a slow-witted brute.
“Oh-oh,” Morgan said softly.
The Shadowen came forward a step, a hitching movement
that suggested a stalking cat. “Why are you here?” it rasped
from some deep, empty well within.
“We took a wrong …” Morgan began.
“You trespass on what is mine!” the other cut him short,
teeth snapping wickedly. “You cause me to be angered!”
Morgan glanced back at Par and the Valeman quickly mouthed
the word “Shadowen” and glanced in turn at Coll. Coil was
pale and tense. Like Par, he was no longer questioning.
‘ ‘I will have one of you in payment!” the Shadowen growled.
“Give me one of you! Give me!”
The three friends looked at each other once more. They knew
there was only one way out of this. There was no old man to
come to their aid this time. There was no one but themselves.
Morgan reached back and slid the Sword of Leah from its
scabbard. The blade reflected brightly in the eyes of the monster.
“Either you let us pass safely . . .”he began.
He never finished. The Shadowen launched itself at him with
a shriek, bounding across the little clearing with frightening
swiftness. He was on top of Morgan almost at once, claws rip-
ping. Even so, the Highlander managed to bring the flat of the
blade about in time to deflect the blow and knock the creature
off-balance, driving it sideways so that its attack missed. Coil