Free Warlord of Antares by Alan Burt Akers Page A

scents of the flowers in a sensory palette soothing and yet exhilarating. Here, the weary could rest.
    We saw the place where the river entered the cliff face from some way off. Trees clothed the lower portions; the rocks frowned gaunt and bare above. We walked on, alert for danger even as our senses were soothed by the beauty and serenity of the cavern. Soon we stood before the river’s exit.
    “Ugly,” commented Seg. “Dratted ugly, by Sasco!”
    The river plunged into its carven hole, fashioned into the likeness of a snarling mouth. The sculpted face surrounding that unwholesome oriflee bore the likeness of a devil, a Kregen devil, which puts those of Earth to shame.
    The rock here glistened dully with a green patina. The river rustled between the banks and plunged over smoothly and evenly with little spume or fuss. The blackness of the hole into which the river entered was of a blackness highly disturbing to those of nervous dispositions. I owned to myself that I tried to lighten the effect by a lightness in thinking of that damned hole; if you didn’t feel amused by it you’d run screaming. Some of those poor women with us were most definitely of a nervous disposition, unfortunately.
    “Come on, Seg, let’s find the way out of this place.”
    “I’m with you. Unfocuses your eyes, does that blasted hole swallowing the river.”
    We gave the demonic face lowering down above us a last look, then we set off along the base of the cavern wall.
    I suppose, to be honest, we both knew what it would come to, that there would be no escape from the deed. Still, we searched diligently all the way around for the way out, until we reached the gap in the rock through which the river entered the cavern. Then we went downstream to the camp.
    Shalane spat and said: “There is no way out but the way we entered.”
    “D’you want to retrace your steps in there?”
    A great hullabaloo started at this, and Seg and I went off to eat some of the fish Nath had caught and cooked. Some of the women had brightened appreciably in these pleasant surroundings, and were busy about our camp. I do not much care for fish; I recall that meal with pleasure.
    In the end, of course, there was nothing else for it.
    I felt no surprise when, staring up at the demonic face swallowing the river, some of the women turned around. They went back to the camp, calling that they would stay here.
    “We can’t leave them!” Nath looked outraged.
    “We cannot in all conscience force them to go against their wishes, can we? They will be safe here—”
    “But — forever?”
    Seg said: “We’ll talk to ’em again. It won’t be all that bad, by the Veiled Froyvil!”
    Eventually six of the women remained adamant that they would stay. They could do without men gladly.
    “So be it.”
    “Havila have you in her keeping,” said one of the women who was not staying, bold of face and grasping a spear.
    From the slain malkos the Rumay women had taken axes as well as swords and spears, and we set to work to chop enough branches and trees to make sufficient rafts. They were bound together with lianas, and everyone pitched in to help.
    While everyone was busy I glanced up to see the ghostly form of Deb-Lu standing beside me. He nodded and tried to make his serious look revert to his usual kindly expression. This time he whispered: “It is the only way.”
    “Yes, for we will not go back.”
    “May the Lords of the Seven Arcades go with you, Dray.” He rustled up the hint of a smile. “And Vox and Djan and Zair, of course, also.”
    He vanished.
    Seg came across and said: “He has no more news?”
    “Only that this
is
the way out.”
    “That’s all right then!”
    And Seg swung off to shout at a girl fumble-fingering a botch of a knot.
    “You’ll ride on that raft, shishi, and if it falls to bits, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”
    “Men!” she flared up at him, swirling red-brown hair about her naked shoulders. “You should be tying