time-clock, whose ray was as a rapier against the flesh of the CCD. Even now Crow might be rushing to the rescue of the two who rode the cloak. Ithaqua's eyes became carmine slits once more as he thought of Crow. His hand closed into a giant's fist, crushing the ice ball he carried into blue shards that flew in all directions like an aerial bomb burst.
Then his hand opened and reached down; taloned doom that closed on the fleeting pair as an eagle falls to its prey. Utterly impotent to avoid its approach, Silberhutte and de Marigny watched the descent of that vast demon claw, that hand open and reaching to snatch them out of the icy air, to crush them into raw red pulp. And knowing that this must be the end, still the Texan thought to open his mind and send one last blast of telepathic hate in Ithaqua's direction:
`Do your worst, Hell-Thing — for it's what I would do to you given half a chance!'
A great black shadow blotted out the sky as lthaqua's hand came down upon them, fingers closing. Then —
From nowhere, at the last moment, a whirling snow devil enveloped the cloak, thrust it furiously toward the plateau's now looming rock face. The Wind-Walker's hand closed on thin air, and astounded and enraged, he hurled his arms wide to the skies and screamed silent threats at his minion elementals one of which, obviously in error, had whisked his enemies from his grasp. Again he reached for the pair, more in anger than eagerness this time, but once more they were rushed from his frustrated, bloating fingers by — by traitor winds!
The first time might have been a mistake, however stupid a mistake, but not the second. Not twice. Not after his warning. No, this was outside interference. This was . . . Armandra!
Armandra, the Woman of the Winds, Ithaqua's wayward daughter who would not accompany him on his enforced interstellar wanderings. Armandra, the Priestess of the Plateau, who had stepped out through the wide bars of her high balcony to command the winds in defiance of her alien father. And now she too spoke to him with her mind, using that telepathic power she shared with Hank Silberhutte alone, defying Ithaqua as she had ever defied him from where she stood white and wondrous on a pedestal of air in front of the plateau, her arms flung wide to the white waste:
‘S ee, monstrous father mine, how even the small winds turn against you! And you would have me walk beside you on the great winds that roar between the worlds? No, I will stay here on Borea and command the little winds and lightnings when you are away, for while the elementals of air and space and the storm fear you, they have only love for me. Aye, and I for them; but I loathe their master as surely as they do, as surely as I am his daughter!
And now, together with the snow-ship, the men who flew the cloak were also forgotten as Ithaqua gazed upon Armandra. She was within easy reach, facing him squarely,-her own eyes as carmine in their starry intensity as were his, and she stood away from the plateau's face by at least a hundred feet. One fast grab with bloated, greedy fist .. . she would be his!
Flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. If he could only take her — carry her away from Borea and show her the wonder of distant worlds, the great ice planets on the rims of star systems whose suns were mere dying embers — then she would know the glory and the power that were his, and perhaps she would want to share them with him. Aye, and there was her child, too, a man-child. A grandson for Ithaqua, who in his turn would walk the winds between the worlds and work for the release of Great Cthulhu.
While these thoughts and others flashed through the mind of the Great Old One, both snow-ship and cloak slipped in through the gates of one of the plateau's keeps. The ship slowed to a halt as ice anchors were thrown out; men and bears hastily disembarked and were hustled by eager helpers into the plateau's familiar maze of tunnels and caves. The men in the
Then his hand opened and reached down; taloned doom that closed on the fleeting pair as an eagle falls to its prey. Utterly impotent to avoid its approach, Silberhutte and de Marigny watched the descent of that vast demon claw, that hand open and reaching to snatch them out of the icy air, to crush them into raw red pulp. And knowing that this must be the end, still the Texan thought to open his mind and send one last blast of telepathic hate in Ithaqua's direction:
`Do your worst, Hell-Thing — for it's what I would do to you given half a chance!'
A great black shadow blotted out the sky as lthaqua's hand came down upon them, fingers closing. Then —
From nowhere, at the last moment, a whirling snow devil enveloped the cloak, thrust it furiously toward the plateau's now looming rock face. The Wind-Walker's hand closed on thin air, and astounded and enraged, he hurled his arms wide to the skies and screamed silent threats at his minion elementals one of which, obviously in error, had whisked his enemies from his grasp. Again he reached for the pair, more in anger than eagerness this time, but once more they were rushed from his frustrated, bloating fingers by — by traitor winds!
The first time might have been a mistake, however stupid a mistake, but not the second. Not twice. Not after his warning. No, this was outside interference. This was . . . Armandra!
Armandra, the Woman of the Winds, Ithaqua's wayward daughter who would not accompany him on his enforced interstellar wanderings. Armandra, the Priestess of the Plateau, who had stepped out through the wide bars of her high balcony to command the winds in defiance of her alien father. And now she too spoke to him with her mind, using that telepathic power she shared with Hank Silberhutte alone, defying Ithaqua as she had ever defied him from where she stood white and wondrous on a pedestal of air in front of the plateau, her arms flung wide to the white waste:
‘S ee, monstrous father mine, how even the small winds turn against you! And you would have me walk beside you on the great winds that roar between the worlds? No, I will stay here on Borea and command the little winds and lightnings when you are away, for while the elementals of air and space and the storm fear you, they have only love for me. Aye, and I for them; but I loathe their master as surely as they do, as surely as I am his daughter!
And now, together with the snow-ship, the men who flew the cloak were also forgotten as Ithaqua gazed upon Armandra. She was within easy reach, facing him squarely,-her own eyes as carmine in their starry intensity as were his, and she stood away from the plateau's face by at least a hundred feet. One fast grab with bloated, greedy fist .. . she would be his!
Flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. If he could only take her — carry her away from Borea and show her the wonder of distant worlds, the great ice planets on the rims of star systems whose suns were mere dying embers — then she would know the glory and the power that were his, and perhaps she would want to share them with him. Aye, and there was her child, too, a man-child. A grandson for Ithaqua, who in his turn would walk the winds between the worlds and work for the release of Great Cthulhu.
While these thoughts and others flashed through the mind of the Great Old One, both snow-ship and cloak slipped in through the gates of one of the plateau's keeps. The ship slowed to a halt as ice anchors were thrown out; men and bears hastily disembarked and were hustled by eager helpers into the plateau's familiar maze of tunnels and caves. The men in the
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