two boys safe and well.‖
Theod nodded again, and then he, DareWing and Goldman were gone, and Zared sank
down into his chair.
WolfStar sat in pitch blackness in an ancient conduit deep within the waterways. His
fingers idly stroked the warm skin of the girl child in his lap, his wings drooped behind him, his
eyes stared unfocused into the dark.
His thoughts consumed him.
Where were the Demons now? Well on their way to the Lake of Life, no doubt, but not
close enough for WolfStar‘s liking. He‘d arrived at this site close to the chambers beneath the
Lake many days ago—and now he must needs wait, wait, wait for the Demons to take their own
sweet time traversing the plains above.
More than anything WolfStar itched to throw the girl into the next power trap and infuse
her body with breath and another spurt of growth, but he couldn‘t find the ancient site without
the Demons to show the way.
And so now here he must linger. And hope that he could escape the Demons‘ attention at
the Lake of Life as easily as he had at Cauldron Lake.
WolfStar‘s fingers continued to stroke the warmth of the child. Back and forth, back and
forth, but driven by impatience now, rather than love.
In WolfStar‘s constantly shifting, plotting mind, Niah had become a tool rather than an
object of love or even of desire.
His eyes sharpened, and he grinned into the darkness.
34
Poor, Useless Fool
Drago was drowsing, lulled by the rhythmic swaying of Belaguez‘s gait, when the
shadow swept over his face. His eyes jerked open instantly, and he drew his breath sharply in
horror.
His slid a hand down to where Faraday‘s hands were clasped loosely about his waist.
She was heavy against his back, fully asleep, and unaware of the danger.
―Faraday!‖ he whispered fiercely.
She stirred.
―Faraday…‖
―Mmm?‖
―Whatever happens next, take my lead. Do you hear me? Take my lead! ‖
―But—‖
―Where‘s the lizard?‖
―Against my back. Why?‖
―Make sure your cloak is covering him, and pray to the gods he doesn‘t move!‖
―But—‖
Faraday broke off as she saw what was circling down from the sky. ―Oh, dear gods!‖ she
whispered.
Drago‘s hand tightened briefly about hers. ―Just follow my lead, Faraday, please.‖
There was no time to say more. Belaguez sighed and halted, stopped by the dozen or so
Hawkchilds now crouched in a semi-circle across the snow-swept path.
Belaguez‘s head drooped, his eyes closed, and he was asleep within a heartbeat.
The central Hawkchild, a small, black-eyed boy, took several hops forward and spoke
with whispery accusation. ―You were dead. We ate of your flesh. Why do you now walk,
Drago?‖
Drago gave a high-pitched giggle, as if nervous—which, in truth, was a reaction he did
not have to feign. ―I don‘t know…I felt the…Questors…tear me apart, use me for the leap…and
then I woke up in the Star Gate Chamber.‖
The Hawkchild tilted his head to one side, and regarded Drago silently. Drago suddenly
realised that everything it saw and heard was being relayed directly back to the Demons.
―You were a sack of bones,‖ it said, and its head tilted back the other way.
Drago arranged his face into a sullen expression. ―They said they would give me back my
Icarii power, and they didn‘t.‖
The semi-circle of Hawkchilds edged closer, whispering, their heads tilting as one, first to
this side, and then to that.
Several of them were flexing their hands at the tips of their wings.
―Who is that with you?‖ one asked.
―This?‖ Drago shrugged disinterestedly. ―A woman. She keeps me warm at night. I have
not thought to ask her name.‖
He sighed. ―She is not StarLaughter, but at least she is not dead.‖
―You wander unsheltered through the barren plains, Drago. How is it that you keep your
minds?‖
―I have no idea how I have kept my mind. As for her, well, she lost hers a hundred
leagues to the south. I mean, look at her!‖
The Hawkchilds peered closely at Faraday‘s face.
It was slack-jawed and vacant. A thin drool of saliva hung from lower lip to chin. Her
eyes were closed. Not even Faraday could have hidden either the fear or the intelligence in them.
One of the Hawkchilds stepped closer and lifted one of its wings. The fingers of the hand
at its tip ran down Faraday‘s face. One of the hardest things Faraday had ever had to do in her
life, as hard as keeping her sanity while wrapped in Gorgrael‘s talons, was to keep her face slack
and relaxed at that moment.
―Do you want her?‖ Drago asked. ―She‘s useful enough at night, but a bother to feed and
keep moderately clean.‖
The Hawkchild lifted its wing and stroked Faraday‘s face again. Its head tilted curiously
to one side, and a pink tongue glistened momentarily in its beak.
―You can have her if you want,‖ Drago said, ―although I‘d have the bother of finding
another one.‖
The Hawkchild switched its gaze to him, and it suddenly snarled. ―You should be dead.‖
―Don‘t kill me!‖ Drago gibbered. ―Don‘t kill me!‖
The Hawkchild drew back its wings, and its head began a long, low sweeping
movement…back and forth…back and forth…as if seeking the best spot to attack first.
The others drew closer until Belaguez—still contentedly asleep—was completely ringed
by rustling, whispering black-feathered Hawkchilds.
― Take her! ‖ Drago screamed, and grabbed Faraday‘s arm as if he meant to hurl her from
the horse. ―Take her, but not me.‖ The Hawkchilds drew closer.
―Take her! Take her! Please, please don‘t kill me!‖
―The poor, useless fool,‖ StarLaughter said. ―Perhaps we should kill him and have done
with it. Although…‖
―Although?‖ Sheol said, arching an eyebrow at her.
―It might be fun to play with him a little,‖ StarLaughter said, and grinned. ― And her.‖
―I don‘t know that we should—‖ Rox began, and then every one of the Demons swivelled
south-west and snarled.
―The magicians!‖ Barzula cried. ―I can feel them.‖
StarLaughter watched her companions, puzzled…and then they thought to share with her
what they saw and felt. Far away, somewhere just south of the Western Ranges, stood two
white-clad figures staring north-east towards the Demons.
Power radiated off them in concentric ripples.
―Destroy them!‖ Sheol cried, and she was not meaning Faraday and Drago.
Drago didn‘t know what else he could do. He‘d hoped to fool the Hawkchilds, and the
Demons, into just letting himself and Faraday go (what else could he do?) with his act, but it
wasn‘t working.
The Hawkchilds were drawing their net about the horse, their beaks snapping, their hands
reaching, and then, just as Drago thought he‘d have to try and defend them both with his
staff…they leapt into the air, circled once, then sped south.
As they disappeared, he relaxed. ―Faraday?‖
―What did you mean,‖ she hissed, ―by asking, ‗Do you want her‘? What would you have
done if they‘d said, ‗Why, yes, thank you‘?‖
―Faraday,‖ he said, ―I honestly have no idea.‖
When the Hawkchilds, by dint of effort, and a good deal of power lent them by the
Demons, arrived at the spot where the magicians had spied their way north-east, all they found
was a herd of deranged cattle with two white donkeys running in their midst.
Hissing with disappointment, the Hawkchilds veered east, and then further south, trying
to find the elusive magicians.
They, as the Demons, had totally forgotten about poor, useless Drago and his equally
useless woman.
35
Andeis Voyagers
The voyage north through the Andeis Sea was frightful beyond anything Theod had ever
experienced. True, as a youth he‘d sailed the Azle River and the upper reaches of Murkle Bay
during the summer calm, but that now seemed an experience of another world, and could hardly
equip him for this monstrous voyage.
The Andeis Sea was treacherous in the best of seasons, and in the late winter
was…beyond the furthest reaches of any nurse‘s nightmarish midnight tale.
The forty merchantmen sailed north in two fleets of twenty vessels each, separated by
more than a half-day‘s sailing. Theod, his two thousand, their horses, and the Strike Force sailed
in the leading fleet, and spent the time rolling about the three-quarters empty holds of the ships,
hanging on to whatever they could, cursing every god, fish and lord of the wind that they could remember.
The merchantmen were built to hold as much cargo as they could, not provide smooth
sailing for landlubber tastes. They were great heavy vessels with bellies built rounder than the
most gravid whale, and with little in their holds to stabilise them they rolled from side to side
like drunken parrots. Their motion was worsened by the fact they were sailing due north, and the
crews had to tack across the prevailing northerly and norwesterly winds.
―It will be kinder sailing south,‖ Goldman said, clinging to the side of his bunk but