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"No," I said, "he doesn't, so you might as well come down and have your heads properly lopped off
while the light is still good."
"Yes!" Gerta chimed in with enthusiasm. "What fun is shedding blood if we can't see it?"
"How about `Onward, Pagan Soldiers'?" a different voice asked. "My mum used to sing that one over
my cradle."
I cocked an eyebrow at Dal. He looked uncertain.
"Can you hum a few bars?" Gerta asked.
"Damnation!" I said, completely out of patience. "This isn't a sodding tea party, you know! Come down
and fight!"
"Don't get huffy there, ducks," Lomo called down amiably. "I'll get around to killing you in a minute."
"You wish!" Cocky bastard! Now I remembered why I'd split his head open the first time. I motioned to
Gerta to guard Dal, then sheathed Esmeralda and ran back down the trail to a slope that looked
climbable. I found a fingerhold in the gray granite, and then a toehold, and set to work.
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"What about `The Old Rugged Rune'?" I heard Lomo ask. "That's always a real crowd-pleaser."
A few knobby roots protruded from the sheer cliff face here and there, and I used them when I could for
handholds. My mail shirt strained across my chest as I climbed, so tight I couldn't get enough air.
Lomo's red-haired head appeared above me. He grinned. "What's the matter, ducks? Having a spot of
trouble?"
"Just wait until I get my hands on you!" I wheezed, wishing I could stop long enough to loosen my mail.
"I'll kill you so dead this time "
"Oh, you always say that." He waggled a finger at me. "My goodness, have you put on a bit of weight?
Maybe it's time you checked in at the Old Amazons' Home."
"You are " I said with great effort. Black dots were parading behind my eyes. " a dead man!"
"You really should have sent Gerta, if you wanted some climbing done," he said reprovingly. "She'sstill in
top trim, anyone can see that. While you, well " He leaned over the side of the cliff. "My goodness, is
that a gray hair?"
I lurched upwards, the black dots behind my eyes having gone volcano red. The next handhold in the
rock crumbled beneath my weight and I made a frantic grab at a nearby root. It held for a second, then
tore loose. I fell backwards, the useless thing still in my hand, Lomo's laughter ringing in my ears.
* * *
"I don't know what you want with that stupid root," Gerta was saying from the other side of the universe.
"It doesn't look the least bit appetizing and it stinks."
Wasn't I dead? Anyone who hurt this much ought to be dead. I groaned and thought about opening my
eyes. Not today, though. Maybe next week, or next year.
"They took everything," she said dejectedly. "Bashed me on the head with a rock the size of a castle,
then stole Dal, his hymnals,and our swords. I can't even find the horses. We'll never live this down, once
word gets around. That must be why they didn't bother to cut our throats. We'll be a laughingstock for
ten kingdoms."
I heard singing somewhere above us, echoing against the mountain side. Bad singing. Excruciatingly bad
singing.
" `On a hill faraway,' " off-key voices were screeching, " `stood an old rugged rune ' "
I wondered if maybe I could pry open my eyes just long enough to find the side of the cliff and roll over
the edge to make this torture stop. Unfortunately my eyes did open and the daylight seemed to explode
inside my head, reminiscent of that time Gerta and I had drunk a whole month's profits in two hours.
I clutched my skull and decided even death would not help. Pain of this magnitude would no doubt
follow me all the way to the Underworld. "How long?" I croaked. My breath was a white cloud in the
rapidly cooling air. I shivered and sat up.
Gerta squinted up at the sky. "It's almost dark." She had a black eye and a knot on the side of her head
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the size of a roc's egg.
Hours, then. "Damnation!" I leaned forward and pressed my aching head to my knees.
The breeze shifted and the singing faded until I could no longer make out the words, at which point
thinking became marginally possible. "I'm going to rip Lomo's toenails off and use them to dig out his
liver!" I said hoarsely.
"That's the spirit," Gerta said weakly.
For some reason, my mail seemed even tighter than before, though that could have been because I now
had a bruise on my back matching each and every ring. Every breath was an exercise in additional pain.
The wind shifted again and I heard enthusiastic strains of " `Come, come, come to the pyre in thewild
wood! Oh, come to the pyre in thedell !' "
I pulled myself up against the rapidly chilling rock of the cliff. "Follow those voices!"
Gerta nodded soberly and we staggered off in what seemed the right direction. The trail twisted around
the mountain like a drunken dragon, now rising, now descending. The voices that drew us on
caterwauled like demented choirboys and as we drew near I made out the third verse of "Zeus Rest Ye
Merry Gentlemen!"
"They are having entirely too much fun," Gerta whispered.
"Yeah." I sat back on my heels and tried to catch my breath. I ran a finger under the constricting collar of
my mail. "Can mail shrink?"
"You're probably just adding muscle," she said soothingly, though I could see by her dubious expression
she didn't mean it. "You've been so active lately."
"Right." It was full dark now and we could see the orange glow of a fire up on the cliffs above. The
frost-ridden wind gusted down the cliffs and cut straight through me. I rubbed my hands together for
warmth, then reached for Esmeralda. My chilled fingers closed on an empty scabbard. The thought of
Lomo's dirty hands touching my lovely custom-made hilt with the exquisite embossed elephant's head
made me see purple and puce.
"Sermon! Sermon!" the bandits were chanting. "We want a sermon!"
"But I'm not a priest!" Perchis Dal said abjectly. "I keep telling you that."
"Give us a sermon, my fine potted plant," Lomo said, "or we'll pluck out your nose hairs one at a time."
Gerta and I eased up the slope. Shadows cast in the firelight shifted on the rim as figures moved about
and the stench of scorched donkey meat hung strongly in the air. "Dearly b-beloved," Dal said
uncertainly, "y-you should always be good and and "
"Not fond of your nose hairs, are you?" Lomo said conversationally.
"andtrynottobebad!"
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"Get to the confessing part!" someone cried. "That's our favorite!"
"S-some of you might have been a little bit bad," Dal continued reluctantly.
Someone sniffled, then broke into howling sobs.
"But if you confess to the almighties "
"Which one?" Lomo demanded over a chorus of wails.
"How in the blazes should I know?" Dal's voice was aggrieved. "I keep telling you oafs that I'm not "
There was the sound of a scuffle, then a shocked squawk. "Which almighty?" Lomo repeated.
"Any of them!" Dal squeaked in a voice at least two octaves higher than before. "I'm sure it's their very
great pleasure to attend to whatever you fine gentlemen care to say!"
Gerta's hand slipped and she slid half a body length back down the slope. Above, I heard a familiar
whicker Corpsemaker! She must have gotten my scent. No doubt, the bandits had Gerta's Slasher too.
Once we lopped off their mangy, lice-ridden heads, we'd recover our mounts and swords, and then
deliver Dal and his hymnals to Damery as promised.
I tried to quicken my pace, but my mail was absolutely strangling me. Despite the impending battle, I
realized I should have taken it off when I had the chance. I was gasping for air as I cleared the final foot
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