So Niall was not surprised to learn that what he had witnessed on the bridge had been a deliberately designed trap. He was grimly amused to learn that he had been the bait — but if he had known this, his caution and nervousness would have alerted them. So he had to be kept in ignorance. The vampires, drawn irresistibly by the prospect of a fresh human body, had attacked in force, and had been allowed time to lose all sense of caution before the troll retaliated. It would be a long time before the half-dead of the abyss again dared to approach one of the troll people.
Niall was also glad to learn that the troll had admired his courage during the attack, and that his opinion of humans had risen in consequence.
Predictably, they crossed the bridge without incident. Even the sulfurous wind that blew from the depths seemed less powerful. But he took care not to look down into the abyss.
On the far side of the bridge, they halted on the wide platform of rock, and Niall was surprised when the chameleon men raised their arms to shoulder height in a gesture of salute. The troll again made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and a growl; for a moment, his deep-sunken eyes rested on Niall, and Niall was pleased to recognize in them a glint of friendliness. Then, as the troll turned his enormous back on them and pursued his deliberate way down the flight of steps, the leader of the chameleon men turned his face in the opposite direction.
Niall had been mistaken in assuming the gigantic rock stairway continued downward; in fact, the ledge made a steep right turn, and then continued steeply upward. Here it became clear that whoever had cut the stairway had intended to make a road to the sacred lake, for the path now became rough and irregular, and often narrowed to a few feet. In one place it came to an end altogether where the ledge had collapsed from a rock fall; but someone had cut a low and narrow passage into the cliff, in which it was necessary to walk in a crouching position until, a dozen or so yards along, it reemerged onto the ledge.
This now climbed steadily for half a mile, and a cold wind that blew in their faces blended with the eye-stinging vapor from below. Finally, it was necessary to crawl again, and Niall was glad to recognize the welcome smell of damp earth. A few minutes later, the wind became stronger, and they emerged into the cold air of a starlit night.
They were on a mountainside, and the tunnel behind them was so well hidden that Niall could not see it when he looked back. The wind was chilly, and there was snow on the grass at their feet, which was sparse and tough. Yet because he was still seeing everything with a heightened sense of reality, both the grass and the snow were oddly fascinating; they seemed to be beckoning him to look more closely. But that was impossible; his companions were already moving on.
There was no visible track leading down the mountain — but then, Niall reflected, that was hardly surprising, since it would have drawn attention to the route to the sacred lake. As they picked their way down to the plain below, he found himself wishing that he still had his cloak, which now lay in his pack, somewhere at the bottom of the river.
Ten minutes later, he was so breathless from scrambling among boulders and cracks in the ground that he no longer felt the cold. But he noticed, on two occasions, a whiff of the sulfurous smell, and guessed that there must be fissures through which the gas could escape.
He also noticed, for the first time, the disparity between his own human curiosity and the comparative lack of it in the chameleon men. Nothing in the knowledge he had received in the white tower enabled him to understand the strange scenery that he had just left behind. But he knew enough to guess that this mountain, and the surrounding hills, had been formed at some time by volcanic activity. But why was it hollow? This seemed to him totally paradoxical. Yet the chameleon men were not even curious; they simply took it for granted.
The answer to Niall’s question was that the giant cave below him had been formed by a plume of hot gas that had risen from deep in the Earth’s mantle sixty-five million years ago, and forced its way to the surface in an enormous dome, more than a hundred miles in diameter. This mountain and the surrounding hills were formed from basalt lava, which had been gradually eroded by weather until the underlying dome was separated from the Earth’s surface by little more than a thin layer. And unless the volcano again became active, forcing molten magma to the surface, the dome would eventually collapse to form a huge crater, looking like those on the lunar surface.
Observing this grainy weathered rock beneath his feet, Niall knew enough to guess that it was the remains of some great eruption that had once wiped out all life in this region.
Twenty-five miles to the south, invisible in the starlight, lay the towers of the spider city, and they were traveling directly toward them. Niall estimated that it had been just about twenty-four hours ago that he had left home. Most of that time, he reflected, had been spent underground. It was pleasant to breathe the cool night air.
At the foot of the mountain, the going became easier, and they followed a foaming torrent that ran through a deep valley, then into woods of birch and ash. There, although no path was visible, the chameleon men proceeded with an unerring sense of direction which told Niall that they were familiar with every inch of the territory. They were treading silently over a carpet of dead leaves, and then, quite suddenly, they were climbing the slope that led to the tunnel and their cave. To Niall, it was as welcome as returning home.
A band of humans, returning from that difficult journey, would have flung themselves down and slept. The chameleon men sat quietly on the thick layer of dry leaves, some with their backs propped against the mossy walls, others sitting upright, and simply relaxed. Niall resisted the impulse to lie down, and allowed the weariness to drain out of his limbs in a sitting position. Within half an hour, the tiredness had gone, and he was suspended in a state of peaceful calm.
His stomach began to rumble; it had been many hours since he had eaten. He also suspected that he shared this hunger with everyone else, for as soon as the thought entered his head, there was a bustle of activity, and a few minutes later he was presented with the juglike vessel full of water. This time, the earthy flavor gave him as much pleasure as a glass of mead would have done at home, reminding him of his favorite flavoring, the vanilla orchid, which the cooks in the palace kitchen used in their pale yellow pastries. Even the small fragments that floated in it — which he could now see to be grass-green — seemed to make the taste more delicious, like bits of orange floating in orange juice. It had the effect of immediately satisfying both his hunger and thirst. But he noted something else: this liquid brought him closer to his companions, so their minds were as real to him as his own. This drink was literally a form of communion wine.
What struck Niall as most remarkable was that the chameleon men obviously experienced no desire to sleep. This was due not only to their capacity for deep serenity, but also to the fact that their minds were all interconnected, so they were all aware of one another. A sleepy person gradually becomes oblivious of the outside world. To be aware of what is going on around you, Niall realized, is a definition of being awake. Sustained by the activity of other minds, a chameleon man was as unlikely to fall asleep as a child at his own birthday party.
The result was that being among the chameleon men was like sitting around the fire with a group of boon companions, a state of blissful comfort and endless interest.
At this point, Niall’s attention was drawn to a sound not unlike human speech heard from some distance away. He soon identified its source as the leader of the chameleon men, who was seated close by. The “mouth” in his forehead was moving, and these speech-sounds were the result. But they were oddly blurred, as if Niall was listening to a noise made by the wind.
He experienced an acute sense of frustration at his inability to understand. And as if responding to this, the sounds became suddenly sharp and clear. Niall was now able to recognize that they were in no human language. The basic sound was a little like the creaking of branches in the wind, except that the “creaks” were not repetitive, but a little like the pattern of notes in a slow piece of music. They were not like notes played on a single instrument, but were richly harmonized, like many musicians playing together. Obviously, the chameleon men were communicating. But about what?