"Look," Damien said at last. "She hasn't got any reason to hate me, right? So I'll go first. If it's a trap for you, maybe ..." He couldn't finish the sentence. Maybe she'll take pity on an innocent man and warn me back. Maybe she'll take pity on an innocent man and warn me back. "Maybe it'll be okay," he finished lamely. "Maybe it'll be okay," he finished lamely.

He walked to the edge of the canyon and started to look down into it ... and then forced his eyes up, fixing them on her. There was no way to read in her face what she intended, or how far she might go to entice Tarrant over that edge. Finally he drew in a deep breath and forced his right foot forward. He kept his eyes fixed on her as he moved, resolve like an iron fist around his heart. He moved his foot forward a few feet and down, to where open air seemed to be, and then he was stepping forward but there was nothing solid under him, nothing! and his survival instinct cried out in panic for him to throw himself back hard and fast, before his full weight was committed ... but he knew that a good illusion would feel like that, too, and so he didn't. Eyes shut, cold sweat breaking out across his brow, he committed his full body's weight to his forward leg. And it held. Praise be to G.o.d, it held! He took another step forward, and then another. Slowly exhaling, he opened his eyes and looked down. It was a dizzying sight.

He turned back to where Tarrant stood and tried to force a smile to his face. "Well? You coming?" The Hunter hesitated, then approached the edge himself. Damien watched as the man made the same wary foray that he had, and saw how his face went white with shock as he felt the ground fall out from beneath him. But he, like Damien, persisted, and soon they both stood free on the ground that had been so effectively hidden from them, Calesta's illusion spread out beneath their feet.

"Apparently he hasn't forgotten us," the Hunter whispered.

The Almea-shadow led them onward, deeper and deeper into the maze of mist and acid. They skirted one canyon, turned away from another, and came to yet another which the shadow led them across. This time they followed her without hesitation. How many hours were pa.s.sing while they fixed their attention on the next stretch of poisoned earth, sour odors rising from the mutated plants at their feet as if to welcome them? It seemed to Damien that the ground had begun to incline; how far from Shaitan's peak did the volcano's slope begin? His legs ached and his throat felt raw from breathing the sulfurous air, even through Tarrant's silken filter. Even as he prayed that it wasn't much farther to Shaitan's peak, he remembered the sight of that looming cone, and knew that his legs would hurt much worse before this was over.

And then there was a wall of rock before them, and Almea stepped into it and was gone. The two travelers looked at one another, and then Damien, holding his breath, followed her. For a moment it seemed as if he had indeed walked into a stone wall-and then that feeling was gone, and the illusion also, and the open plain stretched out before them, with Almea waiting just ahead.

"I do believe we found the right guide," he whispered. And he could have sworn that Tarrant smiled, albeit weakly.

The ground became rougher after that and walking slowed accordingly; the shadow set as fast a pace as she could, but she wouldn't leave them behind. It seemed to Damien that he could sense a growing tension in the air; Calesta's, perhaps? If the Iezu were truly worried about Tarrant reaching Shaitan, then he must be near panic now. What had the Hunter told him, that they had no power other than illusion? And he had clearly lost that hand. Good G.o.d, they might make it after all.

The gradual slope became a steep incline, and walking turned to climbing. Through the thin silk veil he could taste the biting sulfur of Shaitan's winds, the reek of foul gases vented up through the volcano's crust. Gouts of fire blocked their path, some whistling, some roaring, some burning in eerie silence. They skirted most, but some they simply walked through. All felt equally hot. Once Damien saw his pants catch fire, and the heat about his legs almost drove him to run for cool earth to roll it out. But she she wasn't running and so he didn't either, and within minutes-as soon as Calesta realized that his newest gambit had failed-that vision faded as all the others had, into the stuff of memory. wasn't running and so he didn't either, and within minutes-as soon as Calesta realized that his newest gambit had failed-that vision faded as all the others had, into the stuff of memory.

Damien found that he was gasping for breath, and his heart had begun to pound so loudly in his chest that it drowned out the other sounds around him. The ground itself was trembling as if from an earthquake, but unlike an earthquake the motion was continual. It made for an oddly vertiginous sensation, in which nothing about or beneath him felt solid. As he climbed, he could smell the dry heat of lava nearby, hopefully not too close to where they were. How high up did Tarrant need to go, to do whatever it was he had come here to do?

And then they came around a chest-high boulder, and saw that right ahead of them a thin stream of lava blocked the way. It had vented through the mountainside not thirty feet away, and though it was narrow enough to jump over, Damien wasn't sure that was the kind of exercise he wanted. "Is there another way?" he asked the ghost. She turned back to him slightly, just long enough to meet his eyes, then faced the stream and started toward it. But he didn't move.

"Vryce?"

Her eyes. It was only for a moment that he had looked at them, but that moment made him tremble. "Not the same," he whispered. He looked at the lava stream, so dangerously close, and began to back off. "We've lost her...." It was only for a moment that he had looked at them, but that moment made him tremble. "Not the same," he whispered. He looked at the lava stream, so dangerously close, and began to back off. "We've lost her...."

The shadow turned back to them. She was the same as before in all superficial aspects, but something indeed had changed within her. That hint of softness Damien had sensed, behind all the pain. That one emotion in her that didn't reek of hate. That thing which Damien had interpreted as love.... love....

"d.a.m.n!" he whispered. When had they lost the real one? He whipped about as if hoping that she was waiting there behind them, but all that was behind them was a pitted slope strewn with boulders. When and where had Calesta made the subst.i.tution? All that it would have taken was a moment of inattention, easy enough in this land where every shadow seemed threatening.

"If he means to hide her, then we won't be able to find her." Damien could hear the exhaustion in Tarrant's voice, of a soul wrung dry by fear. "We'll have to go on alone."

"No. We can't." He was remembering all the obstacles they had walked through, or walked over, or simply ignored. "We don't stand a chance without her guidance." Think, man, think! Think, man, think! "What are the limits of his power?" he demanded. "What are the limits of his power?" he demanded. Think! Think!

The dead thing that wasn't Almea watched as Tarrant considered. "He can create images that appear real. He can cause us not to see things that truly exist. He has some ability to affect the internal senses-hence our sensations of heat and of falling as we defied his illusions-but that ability must be limited, or else he could simply incapacitate us with pain."

Internal. That was the key. Was there some kind of internal link between Tarrant and his wife's shadow, that might help them find her? Evidently the Hunter had thought of the same thing, for he shook his head. "If it were really my wife, perhaps. But this isn't the woman I lived with, remember that. It's a construct of the fae, which contains no more of Almea Tarrant's true substance than would her reflection in a mirror. Believe me," he said, "under the circ.u.mstances I wish it were otherwise."

No help there, then. Damien looked desperately about the landscape as if seeking inspiration for some new line of attack ... and he found it. It was streaming along the ground not ten yards from his feet.

"We might as well move forward, then." His heart was pounding with terror as he made his way toward the lava stream, but he knew that he didn't dare hesitate. "Because without your wife's shadow I think we're as good as dead here, don't you?" He had ten feet left to go, and he could smell the gases that were sizzling on the lava's surface. "Calesta's as good as killed us this time by hiding her, so why not take a chance?" Walk into it, Walk into it, he ordered his muscles. he ordered his muscles. Don't worry about whether it's real. Just do it. Don't worry about whether it's real. Just do it.

He was less than a step from the lava stream when something reached out and stopped him. Thank G.o.d. He let it push him back from the molten rock, then reached up to wipe the sweat from his face. All he accomplished was to make the silk veil stick to his skin.

"You play a dangerous game," Karril growled.

He managed a dry smile. "Just holding you to your promise."

The Iezu took him by the shoulder and forced him back down to where Tarrant stood waiting. "There," he said. He didn't sound at all happy. "As I promised."

The real Almea-shadow was behind them, as clear as if no illusion had ever hidden her. The false one was gone, or maybe just invisible, which was almost as good.

"Would you have really walked into it?" Karril asked him. Damien said nothing. At last the demon sighed. "All right. If that's the way you want it." He glanced at Tarrant, and with a thin smile said, "Just remind me not to play poker with him."

"You and me both," the Hunter whispered, and it seemed to Damien that for a fleeting instant there was a smile on his face, too.

Up the slope they went, Almea gliding easily, the two men struggling behind. Much to Damien's surprise Karril stayed with them, and when he caught his breath long enough to question him about that choice the demon would only say gruffly, "Someone has to keep the two of you out of trouble."

We've won, he thought. But it was only the journey that was finished. Ahead of them lay Shaitan, and a Working so deadly that no man might attempt it and survive. he thought. But it was only the journey that was finished. Ahead of them lay Shaitan, and a Working so deadly that no man might attempt it and survive.

They climbed. In places the trembling of the ground was so subtle that they didn't hear it, only felt it beneath their feet and hands; in others it was like a genuine earthquake, and Damien's teeth chattered as he pulled himself higher and higher up the broken slope. Sometimes it felt like the very planet beneath them was about to crumble, and he had to shut his eyes and draw in a deep breath and summon all his self-control in order to ignore it. The shadow waited. And Karril climbed behind them. And inch by inch, foot by foot, they made their way toward their destination.

At last they came to a place where Karril signaled for them to stop. The Almea-shadow seemed content to obey, so Damien and Tarrant did likewise. The ground was so steep they could barely stand upright, but supported themselves by leaning against cracked boulders of congealed lava.

"It's over!" Karril cried out to the mist surrounding them. "You couldn't stop them from getting here, and now you can't stop them from doing what they came to do. Let them see it for themselves!"

For a moment it seemed to Damien that the whole world hesitated. The rumbling of the earth, the crackling and hissing of nearby lava, the pounding of his own heart ... all quieted for a moment, as if waiting. Then, slowly, the mist surrounding them began to thin. White smoke gave way to thinner tendrils, and that in turn gave way to air clear enough that the side of the mountain could be seen.

With a gasp Damien leaned back hard against Shaitan's flank, and he saw Tarrant do the same. A hundred feet beneath them he could see clouds-real clouds-gathering about the mountain's peak like a flock of broad-winged birds. Between them the air seemed to stretch downward forever, until the flank of the mountain crumbled and flattened and merged into the valley floor so very, very far below. Had they really climbed that far up? he wondered. His eyes found it hard to believe, but his muscles were wholly convinced.

He turned his gaze upward, toward the peak of the great volcano. A short climb farther would bring them to its lip, a jagged rock line silhouetted by the orange glow of Shaitan's magmal furnace. The black clouds overhead seemed almost close enough that he could touch them, and their undersides flickered with all the colors of fire, reflected from the crater and its attendant vents. The entire sky seemed filled with fire, a universe of burning ash, and thank G.o.d that Almea had brought them up on the windward flank, because the stuff spewing forth from that crater looked hot enough and thick enough to choke even a sorcerer.

He looked back down at Tarrant and was startled to find yet another figure beside him. Black and sharp-edged and oh so very familiar. Instinct made him reach for his sword, even though he knew in his heart that steel would do no good against that that kind. It was a gut response. kind. It was a gut response.

"Give it up," Calesta commanded.

Tarrant turned away from him and began to climb. From the crater above them a spray of fire seemed to spew forth, and a hail of molten pebbles clattered down around them. He kept going.

"You can't kill me!" the black demon cried defiantly. "All you can do is waste your own life, and throw away eternity. I can give you what you want!" Tarrant climbed on. A lump of rock directly ahead of him split open and lava began to pour forth-and then Karril cursed and muttered something and it was gone.

"I think he has what he wants," the G.o.d of pleasure told his brother. "Despite your help."

There were other figures appearing on the slope now, some human, most not. Shapes wrought of gold and smoke and writhing colors, that gathered on the smoking ground to watch Tarrant's ascent. Some were as fine as gla.s.s, and almost invisible to Damien's eyes. Others seemed to be made of flesh, as Karnl was, and only a sorcerous feature or two hinted at nonhuman origins. One was made entirely of silver, neither male nor female but more beautiful than both combined.

"Family," Karril told him. And in answer to Damien's unspoken question, he added, "They won't interfere."

Up out of the crater itself something was rising now, that was neither lava nor smoke nor any volcano-born thing. A swirling of color, that lit the ash from beneath. A cloud of images, that blended one into another so quickly Damien had no time to make out details. Faces-planets-the softness of flowers-the faceted light of jewels ... those images and a thousand more swirled in the center of a cloud of light, no more solid than a Iezu's illusion, no more lasting than a dream. Damien felt as if he were staring into a great mirror, that reflected back at him all the fragments of his life in no special order, with no special meaning: a chaos of consciousness. With a sudden burst of fear he realized what it was, what it must be ... and he prayed that Tarrant wouldn't look up and see it, lest it drain him of the last of his failing courage.

"Is it-?" he breathed.

"As I said," Karril's voice sounded strained. "Family."

Tarrant had climbed as high as he could now, without trusting his weight to the last crumbling bit that might betray him. With effort he rose up to his feet, and the light of the lezu's creator combined with the hot orange glow of Shaitan's furnace backlit him with a corona hardly less bright than the sun's.

"Hear me, Calesta!" His voice was strong despite his obvious physical exhaustion; reaching his goal had clearly renewed him. "I Bind you with sacrifice. With the Pattern that has served man since his first days on this planet. I bind you to me as a part of my flesh, a part of my soul, indivisible-"

"Go to h.e.l.l!" the demon cried.

The Hunter drew his sword then, and its cold power blazed with furious light. Along the channel that bound them, Damien could feel the Hunter's will reaching out, the coldfire his source of fuel, his burning hatred a source of strength. Come join with me, Come join with me, the power urged. Damien tasted the Hunter's hunger, and his cruelty. He ran through the Forest in the Hunter's place, and tasted the sweet fear of women on his lips. The hot bouquet of blood filled his head like a heady wine, so that he had to put out a hand to steady himself. The joy of killing, the pleasure of the hunt, the ecstacy of torture ... they surged through him like a flood tide and they surged through the demon also, a temptation too terrible to resist. Drawn by the power of the unexpected feast, Calesta moved forward. A thousand figures circled about, human and otherwise, watching. It seemed to Damien that the mother of the Iezu was watching also, and he prayed desperately that she wouldn't interfere with this. the power urged. Damien tasted the Hunter's hunger, and his cruelty. He ran through the Forest in the Hunter's place, and tasted the sweet fear of women on his lips. The hot bouquet of blood filled his head like a heady wine, so that he had to put out a hand to steady himself. The joy of killing, the pleasure of the hunt, the ecstacy of torture ... they surged through him like a flood tide and they surged through the demon also, a temptation too terrible to resist. Drawn by the power of the unexpected feast, Calesta moved forward. A thousand figures circled about, human and otherwise, watching. It seemed to Damien that the mother of the Iezu was watching also, and he prayed desperately that she wouldn't interfere with this.

"With this sacrifice," the Hunter p.r.o.nounced, "I bind you to me." And with that he heaved the sword up high, over the jagged rock edge of the crater, into the hidden depths beyond. An explosion shook the ground beneath Damien's feet, so powerfully that he thought the earth might open beneath him. But it quieted, and over the beating of his heart he could hear the sizzle of lava in the distance, the m.u.f.fled roar of fire. Shaitan had accepted Tarrant's offering.

Then the adept met his eyes-his alone-and the fear that shone in those pale glittering depths was only matched by their determination. "You must understand, Vryce. I honestly believed that somewhere, somehow, I could find an answer. I believed that in the month remaining to me I could discover a way to break my compact and survive, and ultimately cheat death anew ... and I chose this instead. This sacrifice of life, which is the ultimate altruism. The sacrifice of eternity, made in the very face of h.e.l.l." He held out an arm to Calesta, and it seemed to Damien that he smiled. "Come share it with me, demon!"

And he opened himself up to the full force of Shaitan, the raw, b.l.o.o.d.y power of Erna's wildest currents. For an instant Damien could see the world through his eyes, could feel his agony as the fae roared through him, too much force for any one man's soul to contain ... and he saw the hillside blaze with a heat so terrible that the sight of it could burn out a man's brain, and he felt the Hunter's soul catch fire as the man screamed-as he screamed-and through it all he knew that it had worked, worked, that Calesta had absorbed the full force of Tarrant's altruistic sacrifice, that the terrible gamble had paid off- that Calesta had absorbed the full force of Tarrant's altruistic sacrifice, that the terrible gamble had paid off- Oh, Gerald.

The Hunter's body lay crumpled and still, and when drops of burning dust fell upon it, it didn't stir. The swirling colors that had hovered above the crater had gathered over him now, but that didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. The Hunter was dead.

May G.o.d be merciful to you, he prayed. May he weigh this day against the others of your life, so that in the balance He finds cause for forgiveness. May He acknowledge in His Heart that every generation born to His people from now on will have a chance to prosper because of your sacrifice- And then it was suddenly more than he could handle, all of it. He let himself down to the trembling earth, and he put his head between his hands, and he let down the barriers that had protected him for so long, from fear and sorrow both. Never mind if the Iezu saw him cry. Never mind. They would mourn, too, if they understood. Any sane creature would.

In the east, a new dawn was just beginning.

Thirty-seven.

Andrys despaired, I'm not going to make it. I'm not going to make it.

They had stopped their march to eat and to feed the horses. The men and women who shared his mission were trying to rest, to renew themselves for the next hour's march. He couldn't even pretend. How could you relax when all the demons of h.e.l.l were battering at your skull?

For a long time he remained on his horse, and though Zefila and a few others narrowed their eyes as they noticed him there, no one bothered him. But then the Patriarch came over and as usual didn't say anything-as usual, didn't have to say anything-and with a hot flush of shame he dismounted at last. The alternative was trying to explain that his gut churned at the mere thought of making contact with the Forest soil, and he couldn't do that. Flinching as his soles touched the d.a.m.ned earth, he tried not to let his terror show as he walked to the place where rations were being doled out. How could they know what the Forest was, or what it was doing to him? How could he explain to them that it wasn't just a collection of trees, or even a complex ecosystem, but a single creature, living and breathing in perpetual darkness, that seemed intent on swallowing him whole?

What good would it do to tell them? he despaired, as he received his allotment of food. The thought was not without bitterness. he despaired, as he received his allotment of food. The thought was not without bitterness. They'd be happy if it devoured me. They'd be happy if it devoured me.

It was getting worse and worse as they went on. He had hoped that the hours of riding would dull his senses until all feeling ceased, but it had done just the opposite. Every hoofbeat that brought him closer to the heart of the Hunter's domain was like a nail driven into his flesh, and it was all he could do not to scream, not to beg them to turn back, turn back! and take him out of this place that was slowly remaking him, turning him into something he was never meant to be.

How could he explain to the Patriarch what was happening ? He didn't understand it himself. Shutting his eyes, he remembered the moment when they had first come to the Forest's border, when he had stood so close to it that he could feel its power like a chill breath upon his neck. He had been afraid to go forward then, as any sane man would be, and for a moment it seemed to him that he would truly be unable to ride on. Then the Patriarch came up beside him, and he put his hand across the vast s.p.a.ce separating them and clasped him upon the arm. Strength flowed through the contact, enough that Andrys could gasp out a few words.

"I can't," he whispered. "I don't have the strength."

The hand on his arm tightened for a moment, and he quailed at the thought of the anger that might now be directed at him. But the Patriarch's voice was quiet and level, with no condemnation in it. "Then trust in G.o.d, my son. He does."

Andrys looked at him, and for a moment their eyes locked. For a brief moment he sensed the deep well of strength in the other man, a reservoir so vast that all the trials of a lifetime could never empty it. Give me one drop of that in my own soul, Give me one drop of that in my own soul, he begged silently. he begged silently. Let me taste it, just for a day. Let me taste it, just for a day. Then the moment pa.s.sed and he was on his own once more. Heart numb, he urged his horse forward, into the point position. Past the Patriarch. Past Zefila. Forward, step by step, into ... Then the moment pa.s.sed and he was on his own once more. Heart numb, he urged his horse forward, into the point position. Past the Patriarch. Past Zefila. Forward, step by step, into ...

Temptation.

Oh, yes, there were horrors enough in the Forest to send any sane man running. Oh, yes, he was sickened by the foul odors of the place, nauseated by the aura of rot that clung to every tree, every stone in the place. Yes, he could feel the chill power of Gerald Tarrant battering at the gateway of his soul as the fae tried to pry his ident.i.ty loose, to let his his take its place. All those things and more were there, enough to freeze any man's blood. But there was something else, too. Something so unexpected that he could hardly absorb it. Something so horrifying in its implications-and so seductive in its form-that he dared not give voice to it, for fear the others would declare him mad. take its place. All those things and more were there, enough to freeze any man's blood. But there was something else, too. Something so unexpected that he could hardly absorb it. Something so horrifying in its implications-and so seductive in its form-that he dared not give voice to it, for fear the others would declare him mad.

He could feel feel the trees, as the Forest breeze caressed them. He could feel their coa.r.s.e bark as if it were his own skin, and he winced at the sharp bite of parasites burrowing beneath it as if it were his own flesh they ate. High above him he could feel the thick night deepening, the faint sting of moonlight on his branches, the cold breath of a mountain wind stirring his leaves. Too much sensation for any one man to absorb ... and yet only the gateway, he sensed, to an even greater vision. the trees, as the Forest breeze caressed them. He could feel their coa.r.s.e bark as if it were his own skin, and he winced at the sharp bite of parasites burrowing beneath it as if it were his own flesh they ate. High above him he could feel the thick night deepening, the faint sting of moonlight on his branches, the cold breath of a mountain wind stirring his leaves. Too much sensation for any one man to absorb ... and yet only the gateway, he sensed, to an even greater vision.

Was he going crazy? Or was this simply a manifestation of Gerald Tarrant's own link with the Forest, a sign that it indeed recognized Andrys as part of itself? He was afraid to ask. He was afraid that somehow, by putting the experience into words, he would give it more power. He was afraid that his soul would drown, not in a sea of terror, but in a tidal wave of sensation so rich and so fascinating that no man could resist it.

There were birds in the trees, and he could taste their hunger lapping at his branches as they searched for the insects that were their chosen fare. And he was aware of those insects as well, a patter of frenzied movement punctuated by such stillness that it seemed the whole of the Forest was holding its breath. The bark of the trees was alive with tiny organisms, and if he shut his eyes he could sense the Forest as they did, overlapping images of food and hunger and fear and satiation and so many other sensations, alien yet familiar ... he could lose himself in it, he knew. All too easily. He could lie down on the chill earth and let it take him, open up his soul until all the life of the Forest poured into him. Sweet, dark ecstacy! Unspeakably tempting to the hedonistic spirit in him, that craved sensation at any cost. Maddeningly tempting to the wounded sh.e.l.l of a man that he had become, desperately in need of escape. What narcotic could rival such an experience, or offer such total escape from the bleak reality that his life had become?

Shaken, he went back to his horse and fiddled with its saddle, as if seeking some weak point in the harness that needed his attention. His hands were trembling so badly he was afraid someone would notice, but the others were too intent on their own duties to bother. G.o.d, he needed a drink. How else did you drive out such a vision, which lapped at your brain like a woman's tongue, hinting at sensations beyond human bearing? Was this what the Hunter experienced every day? he wondered. Did he escape his own undead flesh to revel in the heat and the hunger of his creations? Or was that an experience reserved for a living Tarrant, which even the great Hunter might not share? The thought of it made his head swim. And the very real fear that he would be swallowed up by those new sensations made him clench his hands into fists so tightly that his fingers throbbed with pain, as if by doing so he could somehow control the source of the alien sensations, and drive the Forest out of his soul.

They ate quickly, remounted, rode on. Into a night so endless, a land so twisted and degraded, that its oppressive power strangled even whispered conversations among them. They had no means of measuring their path or of even chosing their direction. Their compa.s.ses had ceased to work long ago, cursed by their own fears into a state of inaccuracy so p.r.o.nounced that finally, with a sigh, Zefila ordered them put away for good. The path they followed was serpentine, and it seemed to Andrys that several times they crossed their own tracks as they rode along it. No one else seemed to notice it, or at least, no one mentioned it. Was it just a hallucination, conjured by his fear? Or was it a true vision, visible only to those who saw with the Hunter's eyes?

The Forest was herding them, that much was clear, but to where? If their subterfuge worked, it should lead them to the black keep at the heart of the Forest. If not ... then they might wander these dark woods forever until hope and supplies both ran out. Wasn't that how the Forest worked? Entrapping the men in a maze of wood and stone until they died, perhaps mere yards from a place where the sun was shining?

Don't think about that, he thought, pulling at his collar with a feverish finger. he thought, pulling at his collar with a feverish finger. You'll go crazy. You'll go crazy.

After what seemed like an eternity on horseback, Zefila indicated that it was time to make camp for the day. When they came to an area that was clearer than most, they halted their horses and dismounted one after the other, as exhausted by the aura of futility that hung about their company as they were by the exertion of a long ride. Time to sleep, Time to sleep, Andrys thought. Not a happy thought. G.o.d, he needed a drink. His throat was burning and his hands were shaking and he really didn't know how he was going to make it through the next hour, much less continue on like this for another day without fortification. He almost turned to the Patriarch and begged for a swallow from the metal flask the Holy Father had confiscated back at the beginning of their march. Almost. But in the end he lacked the courage to confront the man, or perhaps he was ashamed to admit to such weakness in front of him. Grimacing as he dismounted, he braced himself by remembering that there were times in the past when Samiel had locked up-or smashed-all the bottles of liquor in the keep, and he had made it through. Somehow. Andrys thought. Not a happy thought. G.o.d, he needed a drink. His throat was burning and his hands were shaking and he really didn't know how he was going to make it through the next hour, much less continue on like this for another day without fortification. He almost turned to the Patriarch and begged for a swallow from the metal flask the Holy Father had confiscated back at the beginning of their march. Almost. But in the end he lacked the courage to confront the man, or perhaps he was ashamed to admit to such weakness in front of him. Grimacing as he dismounted, he braced himself by remembering that there were times in the past when Samiel had locked up-or smashed-all the bottles of liquor in the keep, and he had made it through. Somehow.

Food was doled out: cold, uncomforting rations. He tried not to think about the predators circling the campsite just beyond the reach of their meager light, but his senses were more attuned to the Forest than before, and he could hear them treading warily about the camp, wanting only the right signal to attack. G.o.d willing, they'd keep their distance.

He stiffened suddenly. His nerves felt like someone had just screeched fingernails across a slate, right behind him.

Something was wrong.

He shook his head, wincing as a sharp bolt of pain shot through his temples. The animals had stopped their circling. The very night air seemed uncommonly still. He felt as if he were standing before a tidal wave, a vast bore of black water that was about to bear down on him.

"Mer Tarrant?" someone asked.

-And it struck him in his gut like a physical blow, so powerfully that he staggered backward, falling over a man who had been unpacking supplies behind him-falling over him and then still falling, down past the earth, down into into the earth, falling into a chasm of darkness so absolute that there was no earth in all the universe, nothing to cling to, no one to scream to ... it was a hot darkness, so hot that he could taste his skin charring, he could hear his hair sizzling, he could smell his blood boiling to vapor- the earth, falling into a chasm of darkness so absolute that there was no earth in all the universe, nothing to cling to, no one to scream to ... it was a hot darkness, so hot that he could taste his skin charring, he could hear his hair sizzling, he could smell his blood boiling to vapor- He screamed. Or tried to. G.o.d only knew if the sound had reality; in his world it echoed and echoed until it filled the dark, hot s.p.a.ce with sound, until it deafened him to hear his own cries, his own terrified keening- "Tarrant ! What is it?"

He could feel a vast tremor run through the Forest then, a vibration that ripped loose ghost-white roots and sent the scavenger worms digging madly for cover. What was happening? Not an earthquake, but something infinitely more fearsome. He fought his way up from the darkness, struggling to focus on real things: the people around him, the horses stamping nervously on the ground, the sharp pain in his thigh where he had struck it against a rock in his fall. Focus. Think. Try to figure out what the h.e.l.l is happening.

"Mer Tarrant?" a woman asked.

"I'm okay," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. Hearing his own words as if they were that of a stranger. There was something wrong in the Forest, so terribly wrong that he sensed his very life depended on being able to define it, yet its definition slithered from his mental grasp. The soldiers were in danger now, he realized, far more danger than they had ever been in before, far more danger than any of them could antic.i.p.ate- "Oh, my G.o.d," he whispered. Suddenly understanding. "No. Not that."

"What?" It was Jensing, an older man with a wife and children to go back to. "What is it?"

Andrys looked for the Patriarch, found him. Their eyes met.

"We're not safe any more," he gasped. "You have to do something-"

"Why?" the Holy Father demanded. His tone was utterly cool, incredibly controlled. Couldn't he sense the danger here?

"It broke," he gasped. "His link with it. Gone." He stared into those blue eyes, so maddeningly calm, and heard the terror rise in his own voice. "It isn't his anymore. "It isn't his anymore. Don't you understand what that means? I won't be able to-" Don't you understand what that means? I won't be able to-"

White-furred shapes erupted from the forest's edge. Sleek killers, lithe and powerful, with teeth that gleamed like pearls along their slathering jaws. They gave no warning, but burst from the stillness of the surrounding woods with a suddenness and a silence that seemed more demonic than b.e.s.t.i.a.l and they were upon the company so quickly that few could muster a defense. One man went down with a cry of anguish, sharp teeth ripping at his throat before he could manage to reach his sword. A woman screamed as two beasts bore down on her, their claws making short work of her face. Something pale and hungry leaped toward the group that was surrounding Andrys, and before anyone could react it had borne one woman down upon him, spattering him with blood as it tore through her throat mere inches from his face. There was screaming now-some battle cries, some howls of fear-and the mixed sound churned in Andrys's brain as he struggled to kick the dead weight of the woman off his chest, praying that the creature would go with it. Then someone managed to take up a weapon and spear the beast, forcing a blade through its gut while Andrys struggled to get his own weapon loose. Even that didn't stop the thing. He felt the teeth clamp shut around his leg as his sword slid free of his sheath and he kicked out wildly with his other foot, hoping to dislodge it before those powerful jaws slid around to the back of his steel greaves, or else crushed them utterly. Another sword hacked at the animal, blinding him with a spray of black, foul-smelling blood. He struggled to get away from the beast, and when at last he did he fought his way to his knees, and then to his feet. He was as ready to fight as he had ever been in his life, but he knew deep inside that even that wasn't enough. Ten years of civilized fencing bouts in an upper-cla.s.s salon had hardly prepared him for this. this.

There were dozens of them in the camp now, and they were carving their way through the Church's troops with tooth and claw and sheer b.e.s.t.i.a.l savagery. Some of them were attacking the soldiers, but most of them were going for their mounts, as if they knew the saddled beasts to be unarmed. Amidst the rearing, squealing horses it was impossible to see how many animals there were, but the smell of blood was thick in the air and the few men who dared come near that battlefield were spattered in crimson.

As for the beasts who had chosen human prey ... with their strength, claws, and endurance they were five times as deadly as any equivalent human host would have been, and ten times more terrifying. Their powerful jaws cracked the shafts of the spears that were thrust through their flesh, and even the sharpened steel hooks of barbed spearheads that were left dangling from their flesh didn't slow them down. Their misshapen paws grasped at weapons with almost human dexterity, and jerked them out of the soldiers' hands with savage strength. They might have been devils for all that they acknowledged pain, and the worst of it all was that Andrys had no doubt that devils-true devils-would follow them. In one terrible instant the Forest had ceased to recognize him as its master, and now it was free to unleash all those horrors which it had been saving up since the moment they first violated its borders.

"Get together!" Zefila yelled, and somehow the order carried above the cacophony. Those men and women who were still standing began to fight their way toward each other, gathering together as herd beasts will do when surrounded by predators. Andrys struggled toward them, his own sword dripping a line of black blood along the ground, and relief washed over him as he got to the point where there was human flesh to put his back to, and sharp steel swords to protect his sides. Several of the soldiers had managed to take up their springbolts and now, with the protective efforts of their comrades buying them a precious second in which to aim, they launched their projectiles. Again and again, pausing only to reload from boxes at their feet, trusting to their brothers and sisters in battle to protect them as they did so. Bright quarrels bit into white fur, freeing blood as black as the night itself. A smell filled the clearing which was ten times more horrible than the rotting stink of the Forest, and Andrys felt bile rise up in the back of his throat with such re vulsive power that for a moment he feared he would be overcome by it. Several of the soldiers were, and their comrades struggled to protect them while they doubled over, giving vent to their fear and their revulsion in a hot, fierce flow.

I'm going to die here, Andrys thought as he gouged one of the creatures with his sword; the creature leaped back with such force that it took everything he had to yank the weapon loose before it was pulled from his grasp. Was that Narilka's voice he heard, crying out his name in the midst of this madness? The delusion lent him strength, and he dared move forward far enough to stab at the creature's face. He didn't hit it himself, but in its effort to avoid him it impaled itself on another's spear. Good enough. Andrys thought as he gouged one of the creatures with his sword; the creature leaped back with such force that it took everything he had to yank the weapon loose before it was pulled from his grasp. Was that Narilka's voice he heard, crying out his name in the midst of this madness? The delusion lent him strength, and he dared move forward far enough to stab at the creature's face. He didn't hit it himself, but in its effort to avoid him it impaled itself on another's spear. Good enough. We're all going to die here. We're all going to die here.

But the tide of battle was turning. The beasts who had feasted on horse flesh had left, carrying chunks of their booty away in blood-soaked jaws; their fellows were slowly losing ground. As their numbers diminished the humans spread out, extending their protective circle to include their fallen comrades. So many were dead, so many wounded ... you couldn't look at them, Andrys discovered, or you'd stop fighting. You didn't dare think about what the battle had cost, or the sheer horror of it would paralyze you.