Eye of the Zodiac

"Cutlasses," said Chaque. "Or machetes-but they haven't an edge."

"Find me a grindstone and I'll give you one. That, or an anvil and hammer."

"Why not ask for a radio while you're about it. And a raft all set and ready to go?" Chaque lifted one of the weapons, swung it, grunted as the end dug into the soil. "The hunters use high-powered rifles and lasguns," he commented. "We haven't even got a decent sword. Earl, we've got to face it. We haven't a hope in hell of getting back alive."

"Why not?" Dumarest looked at the guide, his eyes cold. "We can walk. We can navigate by the sun and stars. As long as we keep going, we'll get somewhere."

"Not in the mountains. You don't know what they're like and-" his voice lowered, "that thing could come back. You remember? The one in the dell."

"We'll worry about that when it happens," said Dumarest. "Ready, Iduna? Let's go."

* * * * *

He led the way, picking a trail up the southern end of the ravine, reaching the top to look down at an expanse of thorn which fell gently to a sharp rim. An almost solid barrier of wood and spine which nothing living could easily penetrate. He turned to the left and followed the edge of thorn to where it met a jutting outcrop; a sharp wedge of stone which rose almost sheer, until it sloped up and back towards the flank of the mountain.

"A dead end." Chaque's voice betrayed his fatigue. "The mountains are full of them. We'll have to go back, Earl, and try the other direction."

Miles of distance and hours of time wasted to no purpose. Energy squandered and fatigue enhanced. Dumarest looked at the wall before them, noting its cracks, small fissures, clumps of vegetation.

"We'll climb," he said. "Move up and around."

"And, if beyond, there is more thorn?" Chaque slashed at the ruby leaves with his metal bar. "A slip and we could fall into it. Once trapped, we could never escape."

A chance which had to be taken. Dumarest looped a wire around the handle of his sword and slung it from his neck. The pouch, now filled with selected stones, followed. The gloves he tucked under his tunic and, without hesitation, began to climb. Twenty feet up he halted and looked down.

"Use my hand and footholds. Iduna, you come next Chaque, you take the rear."

"I'm no climber, Earl."

"You'll manage. Just look up and ahead, never down."

Dumarest climbed higher as they followed, fingers digging into cracks, boots resting on tiny ledges, the clumps of vegetation. One yielded beneath his weight. He heard Iduna gasp as dirt showered about her, Chaque's muffled curse as a stone hit his injured temple.

"Earl?"

"It's nothing. Just keep moving."

Up another fifty feet, and then he met an overhang under which he sidled like a crab. A gust of wind swept over the thorn, stirring the leaves so they flashed with changing ruby and silver, spines lifting as if eager for prey.

The curve of the outcrop was smooth, worn with wind and weather. Dumarest edged around it as far as he could go, then looked up and down. Ten feet below on the far side of the curve erosion had caused a mass of stone to fall, leaving a scooped hollow above a ledge almost four feet wide. A safe place to rest if they could reach it, and there was only one way to do that.

To swing, to jump, to land and, somehow, to maintain balance. To slip was to fall and land among the thorn.

"Earl? Is something wrong?" The woman sounded anxious.

"No. Just hold on."

Again, Dumarest examined the curve. It was bare, unmarred aside from a narrow fissure which ran in an almost horizontal line. Reaching behind him Dumarest lifted the crude sword from his neck, probing ahead with the tip of the blunt blade. It penetrated an inch then, as he turned it, slid within the fissure for half its length. He hammered it home with the heel of his hand and then, gripping it, swung from his holds, dropping, landing with a thud on the ledge to teeter on the very brink.

A moment of strain as muscles and reflexes fought the pull of gravity. Then he was safe, dropping on all fours, his lungs pumping air.

"Earl?" Iduna was above, her face pale, strained as she looked at where he stood. He saw her lips tighten as he told her what to do.

"Earl! I can't! I-"

"You've got no choice!" He was deliberately curt. "Grab the bar, swing and let go. I'll catch you before you can fall. Hurry! Don't think about it, just do it!"

She hit the edge of the ledge, swayed and gasped as he swung her to safety. Chaque followed, unexpectedly agile. Without pause Dumarest led the way down to where piled dirt made an easy slope, leading past the thorn to a ridge running south, a rugged expanse dotted with scrub.

The far end terminated in a crevasse impossible to cross. Chaque looked at it, his eyes bleak.

"I told you, Earl. These mountains are difficult to fly over and impossible to traverse on foot. We'll never make it."