The Chalk Giants (26 page)

The figure, howling defiance, was running swiftly up the steep path to where a fringe of heads above the valley rim marked the attacks. They saw an arrow strike it, and another. It staggered; and a volley of shafts hissed down the cliff. Ensor rolled, fell headlong. The body struck the sloping ground behind the path, rolled again with a flailing of arms and legs, lay still. Silence fell; and Egrith groaned, beating his fists on rock. ‘King Rand,’ he said, ‘you have killed us all.’

The path was filling now with jostling men. Thirty or forty were visible, and others still crowding to the brink. The Sealanders backed, frowning; and Rand exclaimed. Beneath the overhang, what had seemed a dense shadow was in fact the mouth of a considerable cave. He rolled sideways, wriggled; they heard him thump down inside. His voice called again, hollowly, from the ground.

Elgro followed, shoving the girl ahead of him. The others crowded after, straightened staring. They were in the shaft of a ragged tunnel. It sloped down steeply, into blackness. Somewhere close could be heard the splashing of water.

There were voices at the cave mouth. They edged back instinctively, further into the dark. The voices jabbered excitedly. A spear glanced from the rock wall; but none of the pursuers made to enter.

The girl was dragging back, desperately. Elgro shook her, like a dog with a rat. ‘Be still, you little idiot,’ he said. ‘Or I shall put my sword into you.’

Rand frowned behind him at the darkness. He said, ‘Elgro, where could this lead?’

Elgro shook his victim again. He said, ‘To all the Hells, for all I know.’

Egrith said shakily, ‘I would not care to go down into Hell.’

Elgro nodded at the cave mouth. ‘Go back the way you came then,’ he said, ‘and take the quicker route.’ He ducked into the gloom, towing the girl behind him.

The passage wound and twisted, in places barely an armspan wide. Fifty paces from the entrance the darkness was complete; the air was filled with a sharp, fishy stench that caught Rand’s throat, making him cough and gag. The girl moaned, wordlessly.

Elgro grunted, prodding with a spear tip, setting each foot carefully. For a while the rock trended steeply down in blackness; then the passage widened. He straightened, and blinked. From somewhere ahead came ghostly grey light.

The light increased. They emerged in a little round chamber, like a room hewn from stone. In the far wall the tunnel plunged down again, gaping like a throat; above, a shaft rose to a circle of pale sky. Rand, staring up, saw translucent fronds of bracken; as he watched, the lip was eclipsed by a sailing edge of white. He said, ‘Elgro, we could climb.’

The Dancing Man frowned, nostrils dilated. He said, ‘Listen.’

At first there was nothing but the omnipresent splash and drip of water. Then they heard a far-off gurgling, ending in a noise like a great sucking gasp. It came again; and with it a slithering and rasping, as of some huge weight dragging itself over rock. The girl screamed. In the enclosed space, the sound was deafening.

Elgro grabbed Rand’s elbow. He said urgently, ‘Up ...’

A yard or more above the cavern floor ran a rock ledge, green with algae. The party scrambled hastily, stood tensed on the insecure footing; and Rand, staring, saw the opposing tunnel fill and bulge. A pale mass rose into the chamber, grew a great glistening tip that waved and quested. He saw liver-coloured rings of muscle, a raw mouth that opened, snapped.

Instantly the place was full of din. The girl cried out again, scrabbling at him. Rubble showered, crashing; Egrith, brushed from his perch, vanished with a despairing shout. The mass swelled, ballooning to fill the chamber; and Elgro raised his sword double-handed, struck.

The effect was appalling. The keen blade, with all the Dancing Man’s strength behind it, sheared cleanly through the horror. The body-tip fell, mouth still gaping. The monster writhed, geysering foam and blood; then the whole great bulk subsided. The thing extended itself, weaving in blind pain; and as slowly began to stream past, yard after yard, groping into the tunnel they had quitted. They stared down, eyes bulging, and saw it clearly for what it was. It was obscene, gigantic; and it was a worm.

Egrith lay still at the bottom of the pit. Elgro, his face contorted, stepped down, turned the body with the butt of a spear. What flesh the slime had touched was white and scalded, as if by boiling water; the head lolled grotesquely to one side. The Dancing Man stared up. He said, ‘He broke his neck.’

Rand turned to the rock wall, shuddering, and began to climb.

That night as they lay in the heather the Dancing Man crawled to where the girl was huddled, pulled the cloak they had given her roughly aside. She began to writhe and mew; and he clapped a hand impatiently across her mouth. ‘Be still, little Rat,’ he said. ‘And for the sake of all the Gods, be quiet. I mean no harm, but to keep you from a chill. Now lie close, and stop your snivelling; for you are for my Lord the King.’

II

His dog’s sense roused him at first light. He frowned, sniffed and was instantly awake. His hands, groping beside him, touched nothing but grass. He sat up, with an oath. There was no sign of her. The little dell in which they had slept lay empty and still, mist-streaks drifting between the trunks of trees.

He stared round him, narrowing his eyes; then rose, buckling his sword belt. A path wound through the copse; he followed it, stepping silently, and paused. Somewhere ahead, a twig snapped; and again.

He flattened himself to the bole of a tree, stayed waiting. The figure came cautiously, muffled in its cloak, a silhouette in the early light. It stepped past; and Elgro pounced, knife in hand. The blade was poised when a muffled squeak checked the stroke. He half-overbalanced, grunting.

She said furiously, ‘Let me go, you Sealand oaf. You’ll make me drop the eggs.’

Elgro said, ‘Eh? What?’

She said, ‘These.’ Beneath the cloak she held a wicker basket. The Dancing Man, staring, saw it was filled to the brim. Beside the eggs were a loaf of bread, a pitcher of milk, a great round of cheese. He frowned at them. He said, ‘Where did you get these?’

She sniffed. She said, ‘That’s my affair. In any case they’re not for you. They’re for the Prince.’

He fell into step with her. He said, ‘He’s not a Prince. He’s the King of Crabland.’

She tossed her head. She said, ‘If I am a Rat, I will call you what I choose. Are you his servant?’

Elgro drew himself up. He said quietly, ‘I am his Dancing Man.’

She looked at him curiously, from black-rimmed hazel eyes. She said, ‘I have heard of such people. Can you raise the dead?’

He snapped, ‘If needs be, child.’

She sniffed again. She said, ‘I doubt it. If last night was an example, you cannot raise the living. I thought you Sealanders boasted of your prowess.’

He stopped, staring; and she glanced up at him amusedly. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Now beat me, to prove your manhood. And make me drop your Lord’s breakfast.’

*Last night,’ he said grimly, ‘when you were whimpering with fright, you were glad enough of company.’

‘Last night,’ she said, ‘I whimpered with the cold. I needed a man to warm me.’

He growled. He said, ‘You were warmed.’

‘Aye,’ she said composedly. ‘By your cloak.’

She turned aside; and he gripped her arm. He said, ‘This is the way we came.’

She pulled away, disdainfully. She said, ‘And this is the way I go.’ She laughed. ‘Sealander, if I were to run, you and your great feet would never catch me.’

He said tardy, ‘Why don’t you?’

‘Because my folk live far away,’ she said. ‘And you at least, as I have seen, can use a sword.’ She pushed aside an overhanging branch, let it spring back. He caught it, and swore.

The path wound down to a little glade, hazed with the blue flowers. The sun, striking between the tall saplings that lined it, made shafts of misty light. A brook chattered over stones, ran clear and deep between overhanging banks.

She thrust the basket into his arms. She said, ‘Orm killer, with that great weapon of yours, do you think you can guard my eggs?’ She walked to the middle of the stream, stood fiddling with the neck of her dress, raised it quickly over her head. She said, ‘I have a certain odour clinging to me. I think it’s Sealand sweat.’

The tunic thumped into his arms. She walked forward to where the water deepened. She knelt, panting, began splashing herself vigorously. She said, ‘Why are you so far from your homeland? You and your fine King?’

He stared. Her body was slender, with high, firm breasts. Beneath her arms were crisp curls of black hair.

She looked over her shoulder. She said, ‘I asked a question, Dancing Man.’

He shrugged. He said, ‘It’s a long tale. Not one you would understand.’

She said sharply, ‘What makes you so sure?’

He stayed silent.

She ducked her head; then rose, flinging water drops from her hair. She said, ‘If you have seen enough, put your eyes back in your head and undo that bundle. Also, give me back my tunic’

The bundle contained trews and a woollen jerkin; the clothes a sheepherder might use, up in the hills. The tunic she employed to dry herself. She waded to the bank, dressed quickly. She said, ‘In Sealand, do the women wear fine clothes?’

He frowned, remembering a certain Queen. He said, ‘It has been known.’

She examined herself, critically. She said, ‘You sound gruff. I think you are displeased.’

He smiled, and made no answer.

In the clearing, Rand sat quietly on a rock. Beside him was Matt. There was no sign of the others.

Elgro ran to him. He said, ‘What happened, my Lord?’

Rand withdrew his eyes from a high tree branch, where a lone bird sat and piped. He said, ‘They found me unworthy to be their King. So I released them.’

Elgro flushed deep red, pulling his lips back from his teeth. In his rage he ran a little way up the side of the coombe, and back. He said, ‘Had I been with you, this would not have happened.’

Rand shook his head mildly. He said, ‘It was their choice. Also they came honourably, when they could have killed me as I slept. Who was I to tell them no?’

Elgro snarled, and turned on the one-time Navigator. He said, ‘You could have prevented them.’

Matt, whittling at a stick, stared up with his little black wide-spaced eyes. ‘Use your head, Dancing Man,’ he said bluntly. ‘What could I have done, against six? As things stand, at least I spared one pair of hands to serve the King.’

Elgro stood glaring at the empty hillside, clenching and unclenching his fists; but the girl shrugged. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘There will be that much more for us. Dancing Man, if I gather sticks, will your powers extend to the kindling of a flame?’

Elgro stared at her darkly, pulling at his badger-striped hair; but Rand smiled. He said, ‘Can this be the little thing we stole from the Worm?’

Elgro grunted. He said shortly, ‘It is.’

She walked quickly to the King, knelt with unexpected humility and reached to touch his wrists. She said, ‘These hands saved my life. Now it is yours, to do with as you choose.’

Rand shook his head, and pushed her hair back gently. He said, ‘Your life is your own, child. And my Champion struck the blow, not I. How are you called?’

She hung her head. ‘Rat,’ she said meekly.

He frowned, and rubbed his mouth. He said, ‘That is no sort of name.’

She blushed. ‘If it please you,’ she said, ‘it will serve, till my Lord bestows another on what he owns.’

Rand looked up, surprised. ‘She speaks well, Elgro,’ he said. ‘Also, see these shapely hands. She is a pretty child; she will make someone a fine wife one day.’

But the Dancing Man was still too angry to answer.

A fire was built; and the girl prepared a meal, quickly and deftly. When they had eaten, and the pots were scoured and packed, she ventured a question. Elgro answered curtly that they had come from the north, from the country of the Hare People; and she frowned. ‘Then you crossed the Black Rock,’ she said. ‘How long did you spend on it?’

Elgro, more soothed by a good breakfast than he would have cared to admit, shrugged. ‘A night,’ he said carelessly. ‘And parts of two days.’

She frowned again, biting her lip. ‘That was badly done,’ she said. ‘As you love your King, do not be so foolish again. I would not have the devils rot his teeth.’

Elgro sniffed. ‘We saw no devils,’ he said. ‘Or if we had, I have powers to overcome them. I do not fear your stories, child; the Rock is empty.’

‘Oh, la,’ said the Rat, turning up her short nose. :’Then do you return there, friend of ghosts, and sit a week with them. Come back to me blind and hairless, and tell these things again.’ She stared intently, eyes glowing beneath her thick brows; and Elgro grunted and turned away, impressed despite himself.

Later the question of a direction was raised. Rat was once more informative. ‘All this land,’ she said, waving a slim arm, ‘the Land of the Hundred Lakes, was taken by the Horse Warriors in my grandfather’s time. Their great castle lies to the south. Beyond is the sea, and my father’s country. Where people sit in safety, and are not fed to Worms.’

Rand said quickly, ‘Do
you have strong Gods?’

She pulled at her lip. ‘We have Gods,’ she said. ‘But I cannot answer for their strength. Every year the Horse Warriors oppress us worse, raiding for slaves and sacrifices.’ She brightened. ‘We do have a Cunning Man though,’ she said. ‘He lives in a cave in a mountain, and is older than the trees. They say he remembers the Fire Giants, and fighting-ships like iron islands. If my Lord pleases, I will take you to him.’

So the matter was settled; and the diminished party struck south, through a land of purple hills and bitter blue waters.

They travelled by night, hiding during the day. Villages there were in plenty; and farms and stockaded Towers, stony roads that carried a traffic of lumbering ox carts. Everywhere too were soldiers; dark faced, steel-capped men riding proud, tall horses. Left to themselves, the Sealanders would have fared badly; but mornings and evenings the girl flitted away, invariably returning loaded with provisions. Salt fish she brought and flour, eggs, goat cheese, milk. At Elgro’s questionings she merely tossed her head. ‘Rats live by stealth,’ she said, ‘and are accomplished thieves. Would you expect less of me?’