Beyond the Gate (The Golden Queen) (Volume 2) (38 page)

Orick considered this good news, and they took off, climbing up the narrow gorge till they hit the road once again, and for most of the day, Orick foraged as he ran, eating a snail here, swallowing a few acorns there, nibbling a mushroom.

That day they ran among rounded hills beside where the river flowed, and once they stopped by the riverbank where the soil had a blue tinge so that Ceravanne could harvest some of the Healing Earth. They took off again, but shortly after that they lost the road altogether, for lush grasses and woods now covered the ancient road as if it had never been.

Still, Gallen kept a straight course, and on some high hills they would find themselves climbing over the remnants of a stone road that was worn and cracked, until well before noon they came to an ancient fortress that lay nearly all in ruins. One of its walls stood intact, rose to an incredible height of perhaps two hundred feet.

“Druin’s Tower,” Gallen called it, and he stood on the hill and studied the landmark wistfully, as did Ceravanne.

“Who was Druin?” Maggie asked.

Ceravanne answered. “Druin was a kindly scholar who united many people. He built this tower to study the stars, and he delved in forbidden technologies, hoping to carry the peoples of this land away with him to other worlds. But then he became old, and bitter, and turned away from peace, manufacturing weapons of war.”

“I did not manufacture weapons,” Gallen growled, gazing hard at Ceravanne, and it was as if another person spoke from his mouth. The memories the Inhuman had given Gallen were so strong, that for one moment, Druin spoke. “The Fengari workers turned against me, making cannons without my knowledge.”

Ceravanne studied Gallen a moment. “The Immortals studied your memories most carefully, Druin. You were not guiltless in this affair.”

“I was guiltless!” Gallen spat, and then he seemed to struggle for control and said heavily, in his own voice, “But that was long ago.”

“The memories of the dead can be easily edited,” Ceravanne said softly. “Druin’s memories are in the archives at the City of Life. Someday you may see for yourself and learn the truth of it. Druin was a great man, a man of peace for most of his days, but his goodness died before he did.”

“And if you read those memories and find that you have wronged him?” Gallen asked.

“We can review the records, and if he deserves a new life, then he will be granted one. But you must understand, Gallen, that he violated our strictest laws. Certain technologies are forbidden on this world, yet Druin sought them out. He may have been a well-meaning criminal, but he was a criminal nonetheless.”

Gallen turned away from her, as if to lay the matter aside. The icy-gray river they’d been following flowed down below them through a green valley, where it joined an even broader muddy flow that came in from the north. For a moment, they sat and rested. There were no roads, no signs of homes or settlements. All of that was long gone. Gallen spotted some distant wingmen circling closer toward them, so they headed out for the shelter of the trees.

Orick could smell the garlicky scent of Derrits throughout most of the morning along the road, so he knew that they had gone ahead during the night. But an hour before noon they were climbing back up a long hill when the group passed an old mining tunnel carved into the stone cliff face alongside the road. There the odor of Derrits became so strong that even Maggie and Ceravanne could smell it.

The suns were shining bright and full, hidden only by the thinnest gauze of high clouds. Everyone crept quietly past the mine, and when they were well past, Gallen stopped and looked back toward it longingly.

“Give me the glow globe,” Gallen said to Ceravanne.

“You aren’t going in there?” Maggie hissed, grabbing Gallen’s arm.

Gallen’s face was pale, wooden. “They’ve got too much of a lead on us,” he said. “I don’t want them so close.”

“What kind of plan do you have rolling around in that head of yours?” Maggie asked.

“I was thinking,” Gallen answered, “that it would be interesting to see if they’ve posted a guard. Derrits normally don’t and I’m thinking I could kill two or three before any of them wake.”

“No!” Maggie said. “It’s not worth the risk!”

Gallen licked his lips. “The Derrits are not above eating their own kind. If I kill a couple, it leaves that much more food for the others to eat.”

Ceravanne had fished the glow globe out of her pack, and she handed it to Gallen. “He’s right,” she said. “A well-fed Derrit is not as ferocious as a hungry one.”

“Go ahead on up the road,” Gallen said to Orick. “Derrits don’t like the sun, but if they’re angered, they might come out after us, and there’s no sense being within arm’s length if you don’t have to.”

“I’ll come with you,” Orick whispered.

“No, thank you.” Gallen sighed. “With my cloak covering my scent, they won’t smell me coming, and with my mantle, I can fight in the dark, so I won’t alert them that way. I’d prefer to keep those advantages.”

Orick’s heart was sore to follow Gallen, but he knew it would not be wise, so he took the lesser course of action, and he hurried Maggie and Ceravanne up the road a couple of kilometers, where it turned around a wide bend, then had them hide in some bushes.

Gallen waited till they were set, then crept back to the huge entrance of the mine. It seemed he had hardly stepped in when they heard the bloodcurdling roar of Derrits.

Gallen staggered back out the door as if he’d been knocked backward, and he had his sword up in one hand, the glow globe blaring in the other. A huge yellow Derrit lunged through the narrow doorway after him, a stream of red blood at its throat, raking the air with its claws.

Gallen ducked beneath its grasp, slashed at its belly, then turned and ran. The Derrit careened around drunkenly for a second, then fell to the ground, and Gallen did not stop to watch it, for four other Derrits were lunging through the doors.

One of them stopped in the sunlight, raised his long snout skyward and roared his contempt, while three of the smaller Derrits gave chase to Gallen.

They were so swift, he could not hope to outrun them. Gallen sprinted for a hundred yards, pocketed his glow globe, then reached back and drew his incendiary rifle, whirled and fired.

A meteor of white plasma struck the first Derrit full in the face, and bits of plasma splashed backward, where they dropped and burned into the stone road and into the Derrits behind. The fire of it was bright as the sun, and even the Derrits inside the tunnel shrieked and grabbed their eyes, wailing like the damned.

The single shot managed to fry two of the Derrits and bum the leg of a third. Those monsters who were still alive stayed back in the mine.

Moments later, Gallen hurried up to Orick and the others, sweat dripping from his face, fresh blood spattered all across his robes. Behind him, the plasma fires from his rifle were still burning.

“They had a guard,” Gallen said, shaking his head, stopping to catch his breath. He glanced back. “They sure don’t like the incendiary rifle. Too bad we have only one shot left.”

“Maybe this little display will have them thinking better about following our trail,” Orick said hopefully.

Ceravanne shook her head. “Derrits are not easily dismayed, and they are a cunning people. They will try to outwit us.”

Gallen merely grunted. “They will have to catch us first,” he said and set off at a run.

That afternoon their trail took them through a land of broken hills, a wild land, with little game in it. They did see some rabbits from time to time, and once they saw three dark wolves fading away into the shadows under some trees.

Gallen and the women were wilting from lack of food and from the fast pace, so Orick made it his job to find something edible. Often that day, he imagined himself in Gallen’s shoes, playing the hero. But he wasn’t Gallen, he realized, and food is what they were lacking now.

While Gallen watched for wingmen and Derrits, Orick watched for mushrooms and pine cones, wild onions and berries. So it was that he managed to scrounge some snacks on the run, and near sunset, as he crossed a large stone bridge over the river, he smelled wild blackberries, and led the others upriver a hundred yards to a patch of berries that hung thick from the vines.

They picked what they could, stuffing as many berries as possible into their mouths, and when they set off again a few minutes later, it was with renewed vigor.

At dusk the road left the riverbanks and began to meander up through some dark hills, thick with scrub and the stone ruins of old buildings.

Gallen kept them running till well after dark. Clouds were blowing in, and it looked as if it would rain.

An hour after sundown, they topped a rise and found themselves once again on a high canyon wall. Gallen called the others together for a council.

“If I guess right,” he said, “the Derrits cannot be far behind us. We can either leave the road now and try to hide, or we can hope that the bridge is down at Farra Kuur, and try to fend them off there. Either plan may fail, so I ask you, which do you prefer?”

Orick looked down the cliff toward the river, then looked up at the sky. Their trail was still fresh, and the rains had not come yet, and might not come for hours. To run in hopes that the Derrits would lose their scent seemed foolhardy. Yet the path ahead was unknown. What if the bridge wasn’t down, or what if it had been destroyed over the centuries? What if Derrits also lived in this fortress? There seemed to be no easy solution.

“The river here is not as wide as it was last night in the woods, and there are fewer places to hide,” Ceravanne said. “You still have one shot for your rifle, and the Derrits will be loath to charge us so long as you wield that weapon. I think we should go ahead.”

“I’m not sure,” Orick grumbled. “How long could the bridges last at Farra Kuur before they weather away? At least if we leave the road now, we know what kind of a mess we’ve gotten ourselves into!”

Gallen looked at Maggie, who just shrugged.

“Farra Kuur, I vote, then,” Gallen said. “Even if we get backed into a corner, the road behind us offers little room for the Derrits to maneuver. I think that up there, I might be able to hold them off until morning.”

He nodded ahead, and Orick worried. Gallen had slept only lightly the night before. He was in no shape for battle. Still, Gallen had six thousand years of experience on this world, and Orick had but a few weeks. Orick had to bow to Gallen’s wisdom.

They ran then. Blackberry vines crossed the road under their feet, attesting to the fact that even the game did not use this road as a trail, and as they ran, a burrow owl glided ahead before them, watching for any mice that they might disturb.

The moons were up enough so that they shed some wan light, and the four of them ran with their hearts, until at last they rounded a bend and saw a huge cliff face jutting out from the arm of the mountains, with broken towers crumbling along its rim, and all of the towers were riddled with dark holes that once had been windows. It was difficult at first to see much else, for the moonlight shone only on the upper towers, while the valley before them was in shadow, but the towers looked almost like living things, like giants tall and ready for battle, and Orick realized that indeed the whole face of the cliff was sculpted with their images. Four giants, their eyes hollowed out by age, their great beards hanging down to their belts, stood ready with huge axes in their hands, ever vigilant, ever ready for battle. Orick’s eyes focused on those images.

As they ran, Gallen shouted in triumph, “The bridge is down! Hurry across!”

Behind them Orick heard the roar of Derrits.

Gallen spun about and shouted at Maggie, “Take the light. I’ll hold them off!” He passed her the globe from his pocket.

Maggie squeezed the glow globe, and its bright white light flooded over the ridge. Then Ceravanne and Maggie rushed headlong, running faster than before, their stained cloaks flapping in the breeze, carrying a piece of the sun in their hand as they raced toward the dark tower.

Orick stayed beside Gallen. It was dark, with a thin blanket of clouds above, but not too dark for a bear to see by.

The Derrits were rushing uphill toward them in a disorganized pack, growling and hissing. They moved at a loping pace, sometimes lurching forward on their knuckles more than their feet, yet they moved at an incredible speed, so that a span of road that had taken Orick twenty minutes to cross took the giants only two. In the darkness, the Derrits’ crude gait reminded Orick of nothing so much as that of an otter, with its head bobbing down and up as it ran. He counted seventeen of the brutes.

Yet when they were a hundred yards away, Gallen shouted at them. “Siisum, gasht! Gasht!”

The Derrits stopped, and stood gazing at Gallen and Orick. The ones in front would not move forward, but those in the back came inching up, shoving the others aside to get a look at the prey.

“Siisum s gasht! Ooongu s gasht!” Gallen shouted, and his voice was a snarling roar that mimicked that of the Derrits.

One of the Derrits called out to Gallen quizzically, a sound of grunts and snarls, yet Orick was sure that he heard words mingled in that growling.

“I told them to stop or die,” Gallen said. “But their leader says that we are warriors of great power, and they want to eat us, to gain our power, so that even in our deaths our power will live on in them. He says that he will not be hungry for me, however, if I only give him you and a woman to eat.”

Orick snarled and stood up on his hind feet. “Siisum a gasht!” he growled.

The Derrits lurched forward a step, as if angered, and Gallen fired his last shot into the pack. The plasma arced up into the night, then dropped in a spray. The whole side of the cliff lit up like noonday, and some of the Derrits screamed and toppled off the road in their haste to escape while others roared and lurched, trying to brush the flaming magma from them. In the light, their yellow hides were suddenly revealed, the white flashing of their fangs.

“Gasht!” Gallen roared, and he held his rifle up menacingly.

Those Derrits who could rushed backward down the hill at full speed, but four of the tribe were either killed outright by the blast, or were burning slowly, or had already toppled over the cliff.