Free The Wildside Book of Fantasy: 20 Great Tales of Fantasy by Fritz Leiber, Gene Wolfe, Robert E. Howard, Paul di Filippo, Lin Carter, Tanith Lee, Clark Ashton Smith, E. Hoffmann Price, Thomas Burnett Swann, Brian Stableford, John Gregory Betancourt, Brian McNaughton, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Lawrence Watt-Evans, Clive Jackson, Darrell Schwetizer, Achmed Abdullah

screaming over his head, Frey between them. Were these things real, or the hellish figments of a mind which, nourished on dreams, had darkened to nightmares?
    They were real. I shook off my lethargy of horror and ran toward Balder. “No,” I cried. “You must not do what they say!”
    Podarge screamed behind me. “Let me go. I will stop them!”
    I had to trust her. Trust to her hatred. I struck off her fetters. The air groaned with the massive sweep of wings.
    Her sisters shot to meet her like javelins to a stag. The three Harpies met in mid-air and whirled, screaming, over the treetops, a black thundercloud of wings and gashing talons. I ran to Balder, who had started to circle the tree.
    “Here,” I said. There were stumps of limbs and hollows left by lightning.
    We climbed the tree. I was hardly aware of the bark scraping my skin, of my fingers clawing the bark. Soon we were inching along the limb which held the nest. Balder followed me down the rope to the roof; the twigs and clay sagged beneath our feet. The nest swayed like a wave-tossed ship, and we could not move until it rocked to stillness. We crept down the side, like mice across a cheese, around and under the roof and into the door.
    I saw that the nest held a single room, circular, divided by a low partition of stakes. A ladder led from the doorway into a small compartment, where beds of moss surrounded a slab of stone, putrid with rotting meat. Light from cracks in the wail revealed a clay bowl heaped with gems and gold ornaments. I looked in vain for Balder.
    Then I saw him, across the nest in the shadows beyond the partition. He must have fallen from the ladder. Two young Harpies, about the size of sea gulls, were trying to claw him. He crouched on his knees and fended off their talons.
    I did not wait to descend the ladder. I jumped. A Harpy had fixed her talons in Frey’s arm. I choked her until she released him. Ignoring her claws, I raised her above my head and dashed her to the clay floor. Green blood oozed from both of her ears. Balder, I saw, had disposed of the second Harpy. I did not feel like a murderer.
    Balder embraced his brother. For a long moment he held him in his powerful arms.
    “I vas very stubborn,” Frey said. “You had to come and get me.”
    “You knew ve vould come. Bar and I.”
    “Yes. I wasn’t afraid.” He paused. “Much!”
    “We must get you out of here.” I said. “Quickly.”
    Frey’s strength had begun to return. The sight of his brother was better than healing herbs. We climbed the ladder. The clean air struck us like spray from the sea and cleansed our lungs. I toiled up the porous side of the nest. Secure on the roof, I leaned to give Frey my hand, while Balder remained in the doorway and lifted his brother toward me.
    It was then that the Harpies returned. Two of them, one pursued and one—Podarge—pursuing, while blood ran rivulets from her out-thrust claws. The threatened victim, in spite of her imminent peril, flew at Frey. I held him, then I held air. Balder cried his name: “Frey!”
    I watched him fall; I wanted to take his place.
    Only Podarge could help him.
    Her talons caught him, but not to wound. She could not sustain his weight. She could, however, break his fall. In a wide arc, she curved toward earth and released him before she struck. He fell in a clump of bushes, limply but lightly. At once she mounted the sky and, hissing like a cat, grappled again with her sister.
    By the time that Balder and I had reached his side, Frey was trying to stand.
    “Falling vas easier than climbing down the tree.” He grinned, but a dozen wounds had streaked his body. He looked as if he had run through brambles.
    “Where do you hurt?” I asked.
    “One big ache.”
    Before I could test him for broken bones, the Harpies fell to the ground with a crackle of undergrowth. I picked up a stick and ran to help Podarge. There was no need. The fall had finished her sister, and she herself seemed dying. She lay