Alan Foster - Krull

The longer he rode her, however, the less likely that seemed. She had turned into a model of equine decorum.

"Gentle as a baby," he said to Torquil, who watched him approach warily, ready to retreat if the mare charged. He eyed those pacing hooves uneasily.

"Some baby." He turned, shouted commands. "Saddle the others! Quickly!"

Some of the chosen fire-mares still resisted, but most did no more than canter nervously around their docile leader. They were not broken, but the fight had gone out of them. As long as their leader stood placidly in their midst, there seemed no more reason for alarm, not even when strange things like saddles and surcingles were placed on their backs.

As the last mounts were being chosen, Rell walked up to Colwyn. "I must remain here."

This was not expected. "Why? We'll need you when we assault the Fortress. You're worth any half dozen in a fight, Rell. Why withdraw your support now that—" He broke off, remembering what Ynyr had told him about the one-eyes and their bad bargain of ancient times.

"Forgive me, Rell. I've been so involved with my own problems that I tend to forget other men have their own. Is it time, then?"

Rell nodded somberly. "Before night falls again, my night will come for me."

Colwyn leaned down to grip the Cyclops's shoulder. "You've done enough. More than enough. More than could be asked of any man. Stay here. In peace." He straightened in the saddle and looked around the canyon. "This is a quiet place.

A good place. None should disturb you here, not even Slayers."

"Each to his fate," Rell murmured, adding a gentle smile.

"Each to his fate. Yours to stay, mine to go on. If not for Lyssa I'd be tempted to give up. But while she suffers, I suffer."

"Not to waste any more time, then," Rell advised him. He nodded toward the open end of the canyon. "Your way is clear, as is mine."

Colwyn nodded, urged his mount toward the opening. The others followed, still settling themselves on their strange but willing mounts, talking steadily to them to show they meant no harm. Torquil rode alongside Colwyn. As they passed Rell, he glanced curiously from the unmounted cyclops to Colwyn, who said nothing but explained all with a single, eloquent shake of his head.

Rell turned and walked over to where Titch stood watching Kegan secure his own mount. He came up behind the boy and lifted him easily up behind the man. Titch turned to say something, then caught the look in the Cyclops's eye. Life with the seer had made the boy perceptive as well as quiet. In mat single glance he saw what awaited his great friend, and how near at hand it lay. For a boy he was very strong. There were not many tears.

That single eye produced only one. Gently Rell backed off.

Kegan watched curiously, said nothing until Rell had moved away. "He's not coming with us?"

"It is his time to die," Titch said softly.

Kegan was a practical man, not a diplomat. "We'll miss his help. If he's going to die anyway, why doesn't he come with us?"

"No. He must stay here and accept his fate. If he opposes it in any way, he will bring great pain on himself."

Kegan shrugged, urged his fire-mare forward. "A strange way to live. A stranger way to die. Be thankful, boy, we were given two eyes instead of one."

Ergo rode last in line and was quick to note the exchange. He turned in his saddle. "Rell"

"I must stay here, my magnificent friend. You and Titch have already realized your wishes. Soon I will realize mine."

Ergo reined his mount in. "We had no time to be friends. I mistrusted you when I first met you."

"And I was equally unsure of you," Rell replied.

"No time. Never enough time, it seems. I wish…" He shrugged helplessly. "Good-bye, friend."

"Farewell, Ergo. There was time enough for friendship. Go now without looking back. There'll be nothing to see."

But Ergo could not help looking back. Rell stood staring after the departing troupe, solid as the rock walls that enclosed him, until they swallowed him up,

Colwyn kept the pace easy until they were clear of the canyons. Ahead lay the southern plain and beyond, where the grass rusted, the Iron Desert. And Lyssa. Thoughts of her freshened his resolve. They had a long way to go.

Kicking his mount's flanks as hard as he could, he chucked the reins and let put a shout. The mare started, reared, then let herself go. The breeze in Colwyn's face became a gale, then a hurricane. Soon he was no longer riding, he was holding on for his life.

Behind him he heard yells and cries as his companions urged their steeds to keep pace. Hazarding a glance backward, he saw the frightened faces of his men hugging tight to massive necks, saw whitened fingers clutched convulsively around taut reins. Below the men were pounding, wondrous bodies, and between them and the earth were only blurs riding streaks of fire.

Carefully he sat up in the saddle and squinted into the wind. At this pace they might indeed reach the Iron Desert in time.

It had been a slow week and the boatman was hungry for a little business. He scratched at himself as he emerged from his hut, tugging at his jacket and grumbling at the lateness of the hour. Now, what fools would come atraveling this time of morning, when the moon insisted it was still night, no matter what the clock might say?

Well, they'd pay and pay plenty for disturbing him at such an unholy hour. Automatically he looked to his right. His ferry bobbed lazily at anchor, ready for the next crossing.

"Oh, you'll pay dearly for this boatride, gentlemen, whoever you are. And if you're nobles you'll pay in gold or get yourselves wet!"

Odd. Beneath the rumble of approaching hooves he thought he detected a faint hissing sound, like a kettle boiling over on a stove. Distant lightning, perhaps. At least it sounded like a large party. The night should prove profitable. If he felt like it and they were desperate enough to cross, he might make them pay for the whole week.

Suddenly he was fully awake and his eyes bugged as he saw the fire coming toward him. He looked wildly from right to left and finally threw himself onto the riverbank, hardly daring to look up.

But there was no explosion of water from riders plunging into the river. He gaped upward as the horses, trailing flame from their hooves, cleared the river in a single awesome bound to land safe and dry on the far shore. In another instant they were gone.

"Was that a dream?" he mumbled aloud. Nay, it was as real as the mud caking his face and clothes. He picked at it as he sat up and stared across the river. Before long his earlier mood had returned. Not only had he lost his expected customers, now he would have to pay some old woman in the village to clean his working clothes.

"And I'd have settled for a little silver," he groused as he staggered back into his hut.

Hearts pounded uneasily as the fire-mares drove their tireless way across the plains, particularly when they leaped a certain deep gorge no normal horse could have negotiated in three jumps. Confident and powerful they might be, but a man could only handle so much magic in one night. At least no one was in any danger of falling asleep in his saddle. Terror is a wonderful stimulant.

They'd reached the desert by the time the sun showed itself above the horizon. Red sand and gravel exploded beneath fiery hooves as the mares, seemingly as fresh as they'd been back in the canyon where they'd been saddled, thundered onward at Colwyn's urging. Strange green and brown plants appeared, causing those men with any strength to spare to wonder at their eerie shapes and absence of leaves.

Soon Colwyn was forced to slow. They were approaching a mountain. The mountain had regular sides and peculiar over-hangs, and projections. In the rising suns it shone a dull black.