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but only that the object it sought was within. Clumsily conceived arms hunted
the chassis for purchase, to sounds of sliding soil and gravel. Its weight
tilted the war-dray still more. Those inside struggled to the rear hatch, but
its lock was jammed, and the prow had been crumpled in. There was a roof hatch
but it, too, resisted them.
Swan was out of her saddle, helping dazed Springbuck dig himself out of the
soil that half-covered him, hoping to find Calundronius, as the Shaping
commenced tearing at the bed of the overturned dray. Tugging the limp
Ku-Mor-Mai free, she found his fingers empty and condemned the luck;
Calundronius was the one thing that would help now. She began scooping dirt
furiously, looking for the negator.
Planks were torn away from the dray bed. The elemental began working its crude
hands in for a new grip. Gil was helpless to aid Dunstan, who was throwing
himself against the rear hatch.
There was a creaking from the roof. Inch by inch, the hatch there bent open,
as the monster gradually pulled the floor away. The roof hatch parted further,
and Gil saw the King of Freegate, Lord of the Just and Sudden Reach. His right
foot was planted against the roof, back bowed in exertion. Now he threw his
head back, face bracketed with strain. He d peeled one corner back, and now
the latch gave. The hatch popped open.
Reacher, asprawl, thrust his hands in, took Gil s shoulders and yanked. The
American was pulled to momentary safety with a shriek of pain. Dunstan came
behind, dragging the bulk of Hightower in short, desperate tugs. Then Reacher
seized the Warlord, hauling him out in one motion. The Warlord s blood ran
copiously from his mouth.
Half the dray s bed came loose in the elemental s hand. Dunstan, grabbing up
Red Pilgrim, was last to rumble through the broken hatch. The Shaping broke
off its efforts on the dray, pushing it aside, rolling the wagon over onto its
roof. Reacher, with one leg numb, had to move quickly to keep Gil and
Hightower from being trapped beneath.
Holding the greataxe, Dunstan ran for the nearest horse, Jeb Stuart. The
elemental followed close after, and the horse shied and bolted from it. With
nowhere else to hide, Dunstan made a frantic dash for the maze-work of
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quarries and stoneyards. The monster pursued.
Swan left Springbuck to dig for the negator. She plunged into the stoneyards
to help Dunstan, pausing only to pick up a flake of rock with which to blaze
her route through the jumble.
Reacher had already recognized that he couldn t follow; he hopped and hobbled
back to Ferrian. The Horseblooded sat holding a gash in his temple that had
come close to his eye. The King began to tear his old companion s vest into
shreds for bandage. Gil lay back, wearily cursing the luck that had stopped
them so near their objective.
The stoneyards were filled with unused pieces, from monolithic cubes the size
of a house to keystones no bigger than a scent box. Lying where they d been
left, they formed a labyrinth terrain of roofless corridors and cul-de-sacs.
Dunstan, weaving among them, Red Pilgrim clutched close to him, tried to quiet
his own breathing, listening for sounds of the thing following him. He chose
his path by guesswork, hoping he was moving the right way. The melancholy
Horseblooded hoped the plan he d conceived in transit, as it were, would work.
He heard the calls of Swan, but withheld any answer, unsure if the creature
could hear. Then Dunstan heard scraping, tons of stone being moved by
illimitable strength. The elemental was close, guided by the decrees of
Yardiff Bey that had targeted it on the Lifetree.
He finally found what he d sought, an excavation filled with murky ground
water, surrounded by high blocks. Dunstan cudgeled his brain, twisting his sad
face in thought. Which would be the best place to wait, one that would give
his pursuer no long corridor of approach? He plotted the grating, grinding
noise of dislodged stone, and positioned himself.
Swan s voice, nearby, made him look up. She d ascended a series of blocks to
stand high above the rest of the maze, and seen his plan.  That way, she
called through cupped hands, then pointed.  It comes, no more than thirty
paces! She turned, jumped, vanished from sight. He stepped to a better
location. There he waited, sweat beading his long features and staining his
shirt, as the thing heaved stone tonnage aside to get at him.
Dunstan s gaunt face worked urgently. He d come with the vague idea of luring
the monster into the water, but if he waited on the brink, might it not catch
him first? He was of the High Ranges, and could barely swim, but if he dove
into the water now, could the thing not kill him and bury the axe with stones
flung from the land? He berated himself; hadn t that lifetime-night of
captivity in Salarna even taught him to think?
The block fronting him began to move, even as he heard Swan s halloo. He
hazarded a quick look over his shoulder and saw her there on the far side of
the pool, a dozen paces from him, watching him expectantly. Her look brought
home to him the fact that he was not in the Rage, that he d thought and acted,
under great pressure, and not yielded up control of himself. He was again
Dunstan, and nevermore Berserker.
Then his mind became cool, his course of action clear, his arms steady and
strong. He fired the terse order to Swan,  Stand ready, Red Pilgrim flies! [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]