Sky Trillium. Julian May

raincloaks, as did the Oathed Companions, the King, and the General. A troop of well-equipped men-at-arms and a single knight in full battle-armour had gone down to the riverbank, where they prepared to board a large raft manned by two human boatmen and a Nyssomu guide.

      King Antar greeted his wife and the other comers courteously, then showed Anigel the map he and Gorkain and the scouts had been studying.

      ‘One of those infernal viaducts Haramis warned us about lies some six leagues downstream from here,’ Antar told her. ‘Soldiers under Sir Olevik’s command have volunteered to guard it while the main body of our train passes by. They will travel on that raft.’

      ‘But what can our brave men do,’ the Queen asked in a low voice, ‘if villains should pop through the magical doorway while they are on watch? Soldiers cannot fight magic, and surely there will be no time to barricade the viaduct effectively.’

      ‘No, my Queen,’ General Gorkain admitted. ‘In truth, all that Sir Olevik and his force can hope for is to divert any invaders for a brief period, selling their lives dearly while their Oddling comrade bespeaks us fair warning.’

      ‘They are brave hearts,’ Anigel murmured.

      ‘There is small chance of an attack by Star Men so soon,’ Antar reassured her. ‘Nor is Orogastus likely to assail a huge, well-armed column such as ours. We are merely taking due precaution.’

      ‘Within two tennights,’ said one of the little Nyssomu scouts, ‘our Folk dwelling in this part of the Mazy Mire will have secured that viaduct, as the White Lady and the Lady of the Eyes have commanded. We will heap a tall mound of stone and soil over the site and set a guard.’

      ‘It will be very hard for Star Men to emerge unnoticed from a viaduct after this is done,’ said the other scout. ‘They will have to resort to powerful magic to dig their way out. This we will surely detect, and then sound the alarm in the speech without words.’

      Anigel looked again at the map. ‘It seems there are no more viaducts near to the road until we reach the mountains. We can be thankful for that.’

      A ragged cheer now arose from the Oathed Companions as the raft with Sir Olevik and his men pushed off from the shore. ‘May the Flower bless you,’ the Queen called, sketching the sign of the Trillium in the air beyond the bridge railing, ‘and bring you back safely to our company.’

      Those on the raft responded with spirited cries of their own, brandishing their arms. Then the raft rounded a bend and was lost to sight behind a dense stand of trees.

      The advance riders resumed their slow progress through the rain, with Anigel and Antar riding side by side amidst the troop of knights, and Immu trailing behind the Queen. Coming after them at a fair distance was a parade over two leagues in length: volumnial-drawn wagons loaded with baggage of the court, more carts carrying food and supplies, fine coaches and carriages bearing the nobility and civil servants, royal officers and knights on fronial-back, and nearly a thousand other retainers both mounted and afoot. Double files of soldiery plodded along on either side of the main column, and the sound of their singing came softly through the swamp to the ears of those riding ahead.

      The Queen was well content now, making proud inspection of her mireway. What had been from time immemorial an indistinct and hazardous track only negotiable in the Dry Time (and then only by those possessing local knowledge or the secret maps of the Master Traders) was now a handsome paved road. Its elevated bed, formed of alternate layers of crushed rock and massive logs from the Tassaleyo Forest, stood three ells or more above the swamp and was surfaced with cobblestones. Wooden bridges had replaced the old fords over streams and rivers, save for the crossing of the broad Virkar at the edge of the Dylex country, where there was a ferry. Hostels with guardposts, sited a day’s journey apart, provided secure places where smaller parties of travellers or merchant caravans might rest; but the huge royal train perforce camped on the road itself, with only the royalty and elderly or infirm nobles taking shelter beneath hostel roofs.

      The middle section of the mireway that the entourage now traversed was more narrow than the rest since it had been so difficult to build. Twisting nearly a hundred leagues between Bonar Castle and the Dylex city of Virk, this part of the road crossed a wilderness devoid of human habitation. Soaring trees and dense tangles of thorn-fern, vines, and nearly impenetrable vegetation hemmed in the mireway and even overhung it in many stretches, so that it sometimes seemed to Queen Anigel that they rode through a green tunnel curtained by misty rain.

      The advance party made a halt at midday, eating cold food and resting while a welcome sun broke briefly through the clouds, causing the roadway to steam. But by the time the riders remounted storm clouds had returned, together with a rising wind. Nevertheless Anigel found herself dozing in the saddle as the patient fronials moved slowly onward, their antlered heads bobbing, the tendons in their legs clicking, and their splayed hooves clip-clopping on the mossy stones. Overhead, the leaden sky became more and more oppressive, although the heavy rain held off.

      The Queen was jolted into wakefulness when occasional whiffs of stomach-turning stench began to contaminate the wind. No one was much surprised when General Gorkain came riding back through the ranks of knights and saluted the King and Queen before delivering grim news.

      ‘A scout reports freshly scoured raffin bones on the mireway ahead, and the cobbles show sign of Skritek spawn. We will halt here in order to close up the gap between our advance group and the main body of the caravan. The Lord Marshal and the Oathed Companions will provide Your Majesties with close escort, and foot-soldiery will come forward to accompany us until the danger is past. I have also sent a messenger to summon Crown Prince Nikalon and Princess Janeel. It is no longer safe for them to range up and down the procession casually with their young friends.’

      ‘Very well,’ said Antar. ‘You may carry on.’

      The General touched his helm-visor in salute and spun his fronial about. But before he could ride away there were shouts from the knights ahead. ‘Spawn! Spawn on the road!’

      Gorkain swore and spurred his mount forward, drawing his two-handed sword. Marshal Lakanilo and a dozen Oathed Companions closed in around the King, the Queen, and Immu, lances couched, while others of the elite group followed the General.

      An excruciating foul odour spread through the air. For a time everyone was quiet and the only sounds were distant hoof-beats, the creak of harness, and the hiss and patter of the rain.

      Then Immu whispered, ‘See there!’ She pointed to a dark slough at the right of the mireway, half-screened by thornless fodderfern twice the height of a man.

      Rising from the scummy water were dozens of glistening white shapes, some nearly the size of a human body, others much smaller. They resembled odious fat worms or grubs, lacking obvious heads but having stubby limbs equipped with razorlike claws. Their foreparts lifted as they reached the narrow verge beside the roadbed, revealing wide open mouths with green teeth that dripped venom. The blind monsters swayed from side to side questing for prey, which they tracked with their keen hearing.

      For an instant the riders were frozen with horror. Then one young knight exclaimed, ‘Zoto’s Stones, what detestable things! Like giant corpse-maggots!’

      At the sound of his voice the Skritek spawn began humping and wriggling up the embankment toward the road.

      King Antar’s longsword sang as it left its scabbard. ‘Follow me, Oathed Companions!’

      He sent his fronial skidding down the steep slope, the Lord Marshal and the knights following closely after, and with a single sweeping stroke he smote one of the leading spawn in two. It disintegrated, splashing vile jelly-like ichor all over the King. The Companions spitted other bloodthirsty Skritek young on their lances or put them to the sword, crying out in anger and disgust as they were also drenched by evil-smelling fluids from the spawn bodies.

      Lakanilo’s fronial fell to the muddy ground, squealing in agony, its foreleg held fast in poisoned jaws. But the Companions raced to the Lord Marshal’s rescue, hauling him to safety, slaying the tenaciously clinging spawn, and granting merciful death to the doomed antilopine steed.