Krull. Part 13

"Of course you are hungry." She gestured behind her. "All the others are hungry, so you must be hungry, too."

He smiled down at her. "Your logic is as simple as your dress."

She looked down at her attire and smiled back at him. "I would that I could look like a fancy court lady, but such is not my destiny."

"Never mind," he told her, "you look just fine."

"Then if my appearance pleases you, please eat something. For me?"

"I've done more for lesser beings. All right, I am hungry. Thank you." He accepted the bowl. "Do you forgive me for lying to you about my appet.i.te?"

He was teasing her, but she took his words seriously. "Sometimes a man can carry such a burden that he forgets the needs of his body." She was eyeing him intently now, blue eyes burning from behind the mask of soot and dirt. "I forgive you, Colwyn."

He smiled uncertainly at her, then sat down. Still glancing occasionally up at the mountain, he devoured the stew. She took a seat nearby and watched him. When he was almost finished, he gave her a curious look.

"Don't you have anything else to do except sit there and watch me eat?"

She shrugged. "I do what Merith asks of me. She asks nothing of me now. She is busy enough with matters of her own." Colwyn looked past her but could see no sign of Kegan or Merith. Their absence spoke volumes, or at least a modest number of pages.

"You're a funny little thing."

"That's what the people in the village tell me. I try to keep out of their way. No one bothers me. Are you a real king?"

He grinned. "By accident of birth that is my lot, yes. It's nothing to boast of. None of us can help what we are born into. Mere chance seems an unfair way to begin existence."

"Yes, it does," she said with more solemnity than he'd expected. "I had not thought of it that way before."

Ergo had seen Merith and Kegan vanish into the woods. Now he watched as Vella sidled close to Colwyn. He cursed his luck along with the stew. It suddenly occurred to him that he'd been so busy feeding everyone else that he'd not had time to eat himself.

Bending over the pot, he inspected the remaining stew, selected a healthy mouthful with the stirring spoon and downed it. After a moment's reflective chewing, he grimaced, looked around to make sure no one was watching him, and slung the rest of the spoonful into a helpless bush, muttering to himself.

"The foul filcher was right. It does taste like his boot."

Before long only the remnants of the cooking fire illuminated the camp, mixed with what moonlight filtered down through the great trees. Bushes moved and several figures stealthily approached the sleeping camp. A tall shape moved silently among them, gently awakening Torquil, Kegan and Oswyn, motioning the startled men to silence as they awoke. They restrained their curiosity as they followed Rell back into the forest, knowing that their unvoiced questions would be answered soon.

Several minutes later t.i.tch appeared, stole across the gra.s.s until he stood alongside the rec.u.mbent Ergo. He tapped the exhausted cook on the shoulder.

Ergo rolled over, blinked. "Oh, so it's you. Come back with your tail between your legs, eh? Well I'm not having any of it." He shook the boy's hand off and turned away from him. "Leave me alone. Go back to your one-eyed friend. Friends do not keep secrets from each other."

"Sometimes it's necessary," the boy said.

Ergo's reply was slick with sarcasm. "Did your wonderful seer tell you that?"

"No. I figured it out for myself." He glanced backward, saw the three thieves and the cyclops emerge from the woods. Between them they carried a bloated, misshapen object of impressive but irregular dimensions. t.i.tch nudged Ergo once again.

"Do you know what I think, chef to the unappreciative? I think your nose is asleep."

"Asleep?" Ergo let out a derisive snort. "This nose? This nose works day and night, ready to sniff out friends and potential enemies alike. This nose is attuned to the finest culinary works our civilization has produced. This nose has never53 loafed an hour in its life, a paragon among nostrils, possessed of an olfactory-" He stopped, inhaled sharply. "What?" He sniffed a second time, started to sit up.

"No. Impossible. This nose asleep while the ambrosial aroma of gooseberries fills the air?" He sat up the rest of the way, grabbed t.i.tch hard by the shoulders.

"Where are they, boy? Tell me where they are and I forgive you everything, from your insufferable precocity to your choice of companions- including myself."

"Take it easy." t.i.tch grinned hugely, enjoying himself. He looked to his left and nodded. "They're right behind you."

Ergo turned, saw the three men and Rell standing next to a gooseberry trifle. The vision was impossible, surreal, but Ergo's nose did not deceive him. The trifle stood eight feet high. In the moonlight and firelight it gleamed as brightly as the walls of the White Castle.

His voice was reduced to an awed whisper. "A gooseberry trifle as big as a house."

"A small house," Rell admitted modestly.

"Did you think I'd forgotten your wish?" t.i.tch said pridefully. "After you'd granted mine, if only temporarily? Rell and I had to sneak into the village to find the rest of the ingredients, then build a cook-fire far enough away from here to conceal the smell of baking. Rell's a good cook."

"Comes of living alone with a large appet.i.te," the cyclops informed them all.

"I smelled out the gooseberry bushes," t.i.tch added.

"Prince of nostrils, emperor of odors. I will crown you myself, boy." Ergo's voice was unnaturally subdued. He was unable to take his eyes from the dream become reality. "A small house you say? And what do you think a small person lives in, foolish cyclops? How deceiving you two were! I never would have imagined you were leaving me behind to mope while you and the boy were off arranging my a.s.sa.s.sination."

t.i.tch frowned. "a.s.sa.s.sination?"

Ergo rose slowly. "Do you not think I'm going to eat myself to death this very night? Hah? A supreme end, fit only for a king or master chef. How can I thank you both? Mere words will not suffice."

t.i.tch smiled shyly. "If you don't die, sir, I'd still like a puppy." But Ergo was beyond hearing. At last he would be one with the upper crust. He wors.h.i.+pfully approached the trifle. Never was there a pastry so inaptly named.

"Look at its beauty," he murmured. "Rell, you are not a cook. You are an architect of the kitchen for all that you use flour instead of cement and berries instead of wood. Look at its lines, its color, its beauty."

Torquil stepped forward and held out a large spoon. "Look at its insides."

Ergo turned to him, held up both hands. "No! Not yet. This moment must be made to last, for all that my stomach is threatening me. Let me hug and kiss it a little. Let me run my fingers over its lovely skin."

Off to one side Oswyn shook his head sadly, whispered to Kegan. "You'd think the man was going to make love to it instead of eat it." Kegan withheld comment.

Ergo strolled slowly around the trifle. When he did not speak again, t.i.tch moved to follow him. . . and followed until he'd circled the trifle completely.

"He's gone! Has he turned himself into a puppy again?"

As if in response, Ergo's head ripped through the top of the trifle, his face awash in gooseberry juice and bits of pulp and pastry.

"Not gone, but going, for I am preparing to turn myself into a glutton. And if I should die before this night is done, write this for my epitaph: 'Here lies Ergo, who died with his lips on a gooseberry. His friends were true and his desserts were just!' " He vanished back into the trifle's depths.

Oswyn took a step toward the monumental pastry. "Do you think he'd object to my s.n.a.t.c.hing a bite or two?"

"Nay," said Kegan confidentally, "he owes us more than that after that leathery supper. Even if he turns himself into a horse he'll have trouble finis.h.i.+ng this little tart."

Time pa.s.sed as sections of pastry disappeared down hungry throats. One by one the revelers fell away from the trifle, sated and content. Not surprisingly, Ergo was the last to concede. He fell through an opening that had been made in the crust, staggered over to a nearby clump of thick gra.s.s,54 and collapsed. His long, drawn-out moan echoed through the forest. t.i.tch and Rell walked over to join him.

Their presence did nothing to quell the throbbing beneath his hands. "Ohhhh.

.. where is that wise man? I need his ministrations now!"

t.i.tch pursed his lips as he studied his friend. "I fear you have gone beyond Ynyr's abilities."

"I fear I've gone beyond living," Ergo groaned pitifully. "It was that last gooseberry."

There was no sympathy in Rell's reply: "That last gooseberry weighed five pounds."

Ergo twisted painfully on the gra.s.s. "Torturer! You had to remind me, as if I was ignorant of the fact at the time. A thousand torments consume you both!"

Rell looked knowingly down at t.i.tch. "Spoken like a true friend, wouldn't you say?" t.i.tch nodded solemnly.

Ergo's distress was good for at least an hour's clever commentary from his companions. Then the joke began to weary. Lulled by the steady sound of Ergo's moans, one by one they drifted off into contented sleep.

Only Colwyn remained awake, leaning against his tree, staring up at the mountain. Only Colwyn-and the girl Vella. She sat nearby, watching him with preternatural intensity.

Ynyr saw the light before he saw the opening. It was a pale glow, so faint it seemed no more than a reflection of the moonlight from the rocks, but as he drew nearer he saw that it had nothing to do with the moon. The light came from inside the mountain, illuminating the wide, oval opening like the mouth of a monster lit from the throat. The image was upsetting and he discarded it.

The climb had been harder than he expected. Now he paused to gather his strength before entering the cave. Inside he would need all the energy he could muster, and more. The inhabitant of this solitary place would not be impressed by shouts. It would take more than big words and sonorous phrases for him to succeed here. It would take the right words.

Carefully he edged inward along the right-hand wall. The rock was cool to his touch. It was rea.s.suring to have something solid to lean against in such a place, where nightmares became real and death was something you could taste in the back of your mouth.

Ahead the cavern was draped with white; thin ropes fas.h.i.+oned from cream, a milky maze whose appearance was deceptively soft. The softness was as deceptive as the elasticity. Each thin cable was stronger than steel.

Ynyr slowed, reluctant to leave the comparative safety of the entrance. His gaze traveled to the center of the immense spiderweb, fastening on the solid white ma.s.s at its core.

"I seek the widow of the web!" His voice echoed through the silken chamber.

A faint scuttling sound made him retreat a couple of steps. It stopped and he resumed his approach. A pair of pale cables quivered, then stilled.

As soon as the last echo of his cry vanished into the far reaches of the cavern, he was gifted with a stark reply: "Enter here and die!"

That was hardly encouraging, but then he had no reason to expect anything else. "I call the widow of the web!"

This time no response was forthcoming. He would have to force an audience.

Carefully he chose the driest-looking cables and started out across them, aiming for the silken ma.s.s at the center of the web. It was hard to balance on the two unsteady cables and his physical skills were not what they used to be.

He was halfway across the web when a cable off to his left twitched. It was not connected to the ones he was slowly and patiently traversing. He forced himself to look up and across the web.

There it was: the white death. Drawn by his movements, the crystal spider had emerged from its ceiling hidey-hole, anxious to see what might have stumbled into its lair. It was bigger than a cow and transparent as old gla.s.s. The apparition would have shocked a normal man into insensibility.

Ynyr was sufficiently startled to lose his balance. He tumbled backward, flailing at the silk. This action only excited the crystalline arachnid. It moved rapidly now, turning toward the disturbance in the web, flas.h.i.+ng gla.s.sy palps and dripping clear poison from fangs of dark diamond.

"Lyssa!" Ynyr shouted. No time left for subtlty or surprise. His fate would55 be decided in a few seconds. Even as he called out to her he was fumbling for the dagger at his waist. The spider's poison would paralyze without killing. He did not want to die slowly, sucked dry like an orange.

"Lyssa!"

The voice that had replied to his own when he'd first entered had been sharp and forceful. Now uncertainty bred hesitation. "Who speaks that name? Answer me!"

"It is Ynyr!" The spider was close now, nightmarishly close. No man should have to bear such a sight nor antic.i.p.ate such a death. Far better to perish beneath the hooves of the Slayers' mounts or by one's own hand. He hefted the dagger, positioned it over his heart.

The voice came again. "I give you the sand in the hourgla.s.s."

The words he'd prayed for. The spider stopped, frozen by the movement of sand in the widow's strange gla.s.s. It would remain motionless until the sand ran out. Ynyr didn't know how much time had been given to him. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Instead, he concentrated on making his way as rapidly as possible over the unsteady cables toward the ma.s.s of silk suspended at the center of the web.

The silk clutched and tugged at his body and limbs as if conscious of his presence, trying to hold him back until its spinner's spell was ended. He slashed at the cables with his arms, forcing a path where none existed. One wave of a groping hand uncovered a globular white ma.s.s. The skull showed two widely s.p.a.ced punctures, one above each earhole. Ynyf knocked it aside and it went tumbling down through the web. A faint, final crash indicated how far it was to the rock below.

The sticky silk gave way reluctantly, but he adroitly avoided the worst spots, keeping to the dry cables the spider used itself. The central coc.o.o.n was close now.

Then he slipped. He'd rushed his approach. As he fell, he grabbed frantically for an overhead strand. It was thinner than the cables he'd been traversing, but it held long enough to enable him to swing into a net of thin webbing just beneath the coc.o.o.n. At the same time the spider seemed to regain its composure as well as its senses. It lunged across the gap, landing in the webbing just below the white sphere. But by then Ynyr had started to pull himself up into the coc.o.o.n.

The spider turned a slow circle, moving in short, erratic starts, pulling on various cables in an attempt to relocate the prey that had so mysteriously vanished.

It rested there, sensing in its dull fas.h.i.+on that its supper was out of sight as well as out of reach.

Gasping for breath, not daring to glance back, Ynyr finally pulled himself up into the coc.o.o.n. The surface he relaxed against was unimaginably soft. He lay there a long moment before rising, then stood and inspected his surroundings. He likened the sensation to walking on a feather mattress ten feet thick.

The light that illuminated the cave was slightly brighter here, as though it emanated from the silk itself. There were chairs, a mirror, other implements of human design. A bed of spun silk lay off in one corner.

There was no suggestion of wood in its frame. It appeared to have been woven rather than built. He smelled freshly cooked food and his mind told him not to inquire into the nature of the ingredients.

Across the room sat a table. Various utensils decorated the top. Some were familiar to him, others not. A large hourgla.s.s squatted on the far side of the table. The old woman who sat there staring at him rested one hand atop the device.

All the sand had collected in the bottom of the gla.s.s.

She didn't smile as she studied him. A finger tapped the side of the gla.s.s, marking thoughts as well as time. "I gave you the sand. You nearly used it all."

"I am not as sprightly as I once was and this body works not as well as the one I remember."

"None of us is young anymore."

He walked toward her. "Lyssa." Yes, it was she who shared name and more with the young woman betrothed to Colwyn. Age could not hide the resemblance.

What must she think of my appearance, he thought? Have I changed that much?

From her stare he felt certain that he had.

None of us sees ourself true, he mused. It lies only in the power of others to do that. But I can see the past as well as the present in her eyes. She remembers. Whether that is good or ill we will soon know.

"I was young when I last heard that name."56 He moved nearer, took a chair across the table from her. "I was young when last I spoke it to you."

"My face was as beautiful as my name then."

"More beautiful. You were renowned throughout the Fifty Kingdoms and men came even from across the seas to court you."

"None of them was suitable. Many were handsome, all were wealthy, others brave and valorous. But none was suitable. Only you were suitable, Ynyr, and you would not stay with me."