Clash of the Titans by Alan Dean Foster Page A

Then he was returning, something shiny cupped in both hands. Pegasus gave the distracted poet a friendly nudge and sent him stumbling. Ammon kept his instinctive response to himself, however.
    Perseus held out the helmet of Athene, now brimming with fresh water. The horse eyed him for a moment, then sniffed at the helmet. And then he was drinking in long, noisy gulps.
    "Ah, so you grew thirsty too, my fine friend." Perseus said as he stroked the muzzle with one hand.
    By the time the stallion finished, there was only a little left in the helmet. Symbolically, Perseus finished it, then caressed the horse affectionately.
    "You and me from now on, my friend without feathers. We drink the same water. Even our names are similar. Perhaps we are related, eh?" He grinned at Ammon.
    "We did it, old man. We've tamed the one steed in all the world fit for a god to ride."
    Ammon shook his head and spoke admiringly. "No, my boy. You did it." He raised a hand to still Perseus's protest. "I was amply rewarded by being privileged to watch. I will derive a most wonderful play from this night. That is pleasure enough for me."
    Perseus held the helmet right-side-up, let it drip clean. "What now? I have a few poor skills, my good friend, but little knowledge."
    The mood surrounding them turned somber. "When it comes to tracking gigantic vultures who carry off the astral shells of sleeping princesses, I am as poorly experienced as you, Perseus. We must plan carefully what you are to do next, for if it is truly Calibos who is behind these ghostly excursions of her spirit, only the wise and cautious may return to attest to it." He put a hand on Perseus's shoulder.
    "I have grown fond of you in a short time, Perseus. And I even find myself feeling compassion for the Princess Andromeda, though I never thought I could feel sympathy for any member of royalty. I do not wish to see either of you become food for worms.

VI
    Andromeda tossed spasmodically on the curtained bed. Always the same dream. Always the same, always frightening, but somehow compelling. Yet it seemed no matter how hard she tried to scream, she could never wake herself up.
    It was coming for her again, as it had so many nights previously. How could she tell it was night or day, fast asleep as she was? The small part of her consciousness that remained did not know. What it did know was that it would have to watch helplessly as that true part of her was drawn off, sucked away by some horrid compulsion she was unable to resist. She was weak now, so weak from the repeated draining of self that if it continued much longer she was certain she would die.
    She no longer feared death, however. It was preferable to this unclean use of her inner self. Death would end the dreams and free her. A false freedom, she knew, but the only kind she could any longer look forward to.
    Her body twisted and she cried out. Something was wrenching at her heart and mind, sending a shiver through her whole body. The magic that compelled her was urgent and brutal, content to have its way without regard for how it left her. She slumped once more, completely worn out, and devoid of hope.
    Her second self rose and trod the path it had learned many times over. Down the marble dais, out through the archway, onto the balcony. The cage of gold awaited her there. Moist pools of crimson regarded her impatiently as she entered the open portal. The bars closed tight and she convulsively gripped the arms of her chair.
    The vulture lifted from the balustrade. Once more it hovered, grasped the perch welded to the crest of the cage. It lifted ponderously into the night sky and soared to the northeast, retracing the same invisible path it had followed in coming. Nothing was changed, nothing was different.
    Only one thing, perhaps.
    This night, it had company.
    High above and behind the bird, who was as easy to track on the cloudless night as a merchantman's dhow in an empty harbor, flew a far smaller, more agile shape. It was