hot drinks, either, when it grows cold. My master’s servants will attend your every need. And I’m sure this is a comfortable coach.”
“It is,” said Reesh. “I couldn’t have provided a better one myself.”
Prester Orth didn’t join the conversation. He could not get it out of his mind that Obann, despite his treason, still stood and that the army to which he had betrayed the city was no more.
“They’ll find out what we did,” he thought. “We let the Heathen into the city. Everyone in Obann might have been killed because of us.” Some enemy prisoner would reveal it all, and Lord Reesh and Prester Orth would go down in history as the vilest traitors ever known. What would happen to them if they ever fell into the hands of the city’s rulers, Orth tried not to imagine.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Since the news of the city’s rescue first reached them, half a dozen of their servants had deserted in the night. What if one of those men should let their secret slip out? What tale might he tell? “Never mind them,” Gallgoid said. “If we’re traitors, then so are they. Why should they give themselves away?”
“To purchase their own lives by selling ours!” Orth thought.
The First Prester showed no sign of being troubled by it. He had committed himself to the new Temple, and that was that. Reesh would never look back. Orth envied him.
Why, why had he ever gone along with Reesh’s plan? Because he was sure the city would fall, and it was the only way to save his worthless skin! What was the use in succeeding Reesh as First Prester in a Temple at the end of the earth, built by Heathen hands and subject to an evil man who called himself a god? Why had he agreed to it? All he would get for it would be a dishonorable grave in a faraway country.
“I must have been insane,” he thought. “And as for this miserable journey, who knows where it will end—or how?”
The miles rolled along under the wheels of the coach. To the right, a mile or two distant, flowed the Chariot River down from the northeast. The country through which they traveled was dotted with reedy fens and little streams that wandered east until they found the river. There was no road to speak of: most of the traveling in this country was done by boat or raft. There should have been boatmen, fishermen, and loggers with their rafts, all going about their business here, but the war had driven them to cover. Above the dreary country stretched a dreary grey sky.
Suddenly, the horses neighed, and the coach lurched to a stop. Men cried out in astonishment.
“Look at that!” Reesh said.
Orth looked past him, out the window. He saw a pool with reeds and cattails. And he heard a hoarse, rolling bellow.
Orth’s blood nearly froze. Climbing out of the pool on the far side was a creature that might have crawled out from a nightmare. At first he thought it was some kind of gigantic hog, hairless, slate-grey, and black where it was wet. But then it turned to bellow at the men and horses and to shake its head at them.
It was a great oblong box of a head, monstrous, hideous, with big knobbly horns all over it and long, sharp yellow tusks in its jaws. It was like nothing any man had ever imagined. The men with difficulty controlled their frightened horses.
That was all the time it took for Lord Reesh’s last eleven servants to throw down whatever they were carrying and race off in eleven different directions, screaming. Kyo’s warriors had all they could do just to control their horses. There was no pursuit. And then the creature clumped off into a stand of high reeds, smashing them down. The reeds sprang up again after it and closed their ranks, and the monster vanished. It roared once, and then was heard no more.
“Did you see that, Orth!” said Reesh.
“What was it?” Orth cried. His teeth were chattering. “What in God’s name was it?”
Kyo, with his horse still fidgety under him, spurred up to the
“It is,” said Reesh. “I couldn’t have provided a better one myself.”
Prester Orth didn’t join the conversation. He could not get it out of his mind that Obann, despite his treason, still stood and that the army to which he had betrayed the city was no more.
“They’ll find out what we did,” he thought. “We let the Heathen into the city. Everyone in Obann might have been killed because of us.” Some enemy prisoner would reveal it all, and Lord Reesh and Prester Orth would go down in history as the vilest traitors ever known. What would happen to them if they ever fell into the hands of the city’s rulers, Orth tried not to imagine.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Since the news of the city’s rescue first reached them, half a dozen of their servants had deserted in the night. What if one of those men should let their secret slip out? What tale might he tell? “Never mind them,” Gallgoid said. “If we’re traitors, then so are they. Why should they give themselves away?”
“To purchase their own lives by selling ours!” Orth thought.
The First Prester showed no sign of being troubled by it. He had committed himself to the new Temple, and that was that. Reesh would never look back. Orth envied him.
Why, why had he ever gone along with Reesh’s plan? Because he was sure the city would fall, and it was the only way to save his worthless skin! What was the use in succeeding Reesh as First Prester in a Temple at the end of the earth, built by Heathen hands and subject to an evil man who called himself a god? Why had he agreed to it? All he would get for it would be a dishonorable grave in a faraway country.
“I must have been insane,” he thought. “And as for this miserable journey, who knows where it will end—or how?”
The miles rolled along under the wheels of the coach. To the right, a mile or two distant, flowed the Chariot River down from the northeast. The country through which they traveled was dotted with reedy fens and little streams that wandered east until they found the river. There was no road to speak of: most of the traveling in this country was done by boat or raft. There should have been boatmen, fishermen, and loggers with their rafts, all going about their business here, but the war had driven them to cover. Above the dreary country stretched a dreary grey sky.
Suddenly, the horses neighed, and the coach lurched to a stop. Men cried out in astonishment.
“Look at that!” Reesh said.
Orth looked past him, out the window. He saw a pool with reeds and cattails. And he heard a hoarse, rolling bellow.
Orth’s blood nearly froze. Climbing out of the pool on the far side was a creature that might have crawled out from a nightmare. At first he thought it was some kind of gigantic hog, hairless, slate-grey, and black where it was wet. But then it turned to bellow at the men and horses and to shake its head at them.
It was a great oblong box of a head, monstrous, hideous, with big knobbly horns all over it and long, sharp yellow tusks in its jaws. It was like nothing any man had ever imagined. The men with difficulty controlled their frightened horses.
That was all the time it took for Lord Reesh’s last eleven servants to throw down whatever they were carrying and race off in eleven different directions, screaming. Kyo’s warriors had all they could do just to control their horses. There was no pursuit. And then the creature clumped off into a stand of high reeds, smashing them down. The reeds sprang up again after it and closed their ranks, and the monster vanished. It roared once, and then was heard no more.
“Did you see that, Orth!” said Reesh.
“What was it?” Orth cried. His teeth were chattering. “What in God’s name was it?”
Kyo, with his horse still fidgety under him, spurred up to the
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