Iced On Aran by Brian Lumley Page A

“That clout you gave me in the cave was probably the greatest favor you’ve ever done me,” he said. “So I’ll tell you this much now: Augeren’s dead, or good as. And if he’s not actually dead at this very moment, then he soon will be. Now then, can the rest of it wait till we’re safely up into the clear blue yonder and out of here?”
    â€œSafely?” the older quester raised an eyebrow. “Are there more dangers, then—which I don’t know about—here in Inquanok?”
    â€œEnough and more than enough,” said Hero, “and we’ve a way to go yet. How many miles? Ten?”
    â€œAt least,” Eldin nodded. Then the Wanderer related how Augeren had lured him into taking a stunning tumble,
and how that same monster’s shrieks of terror had finally snatched him awake at the bottom of a shallow pit. Climbing out, he’d been in time (but barely) to drag his friend to safety before Augeren’s lair and the cliff caved in.
    Hero listened to all, nodded, made no answer. And shortly thereafter they began to stretch out their pace a little …
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    Two hours later saw Hero breathing easier and Eldin somewhat winded. But the younger dreamer wouldn’t pause. At last they crested a rise and saw a spur of foothills projecting from low-lying mists. The sun was brighter now, sucking up the damp air, and away to the north the jagged fangs of gray mountains were seen to penetrate slow-moving clouds: the gaunt gray peaks. Hero looked at them for long moments, finally shuddered and turned away.
    â€œChilly, aye,” Eldin agreed, then saw the look on Hero’s face and added: “Or p’r’aps not?”
    Hero made no answer …
    Now, tramping downhill, it was easier going. They angled their route toward a stand of trees, whose tops were just showing green through the mist, in the lee of a second spur maybe three miles away. That was where their sky-yacht was hidden away. When they’d first arrived here and sought out one of the underground movement’s leaders in Urg—a burly, bearded trader, oddly hearty for a man of Inquanok—whose name was Heger Nort, he’d promised them to set a discreet watch on their boat and make sure no one stumbled upon it. If he’d kept his word, doubtless someone would be monitoring their approach even now.
    But then …

    â€œInquanodes,” said Eldin. “Three or four of ’em. Atop that knoll there, see?”
    Hero saw. The party waved at them a good deal, urgently, but refrained from shouting; then they came hurrying down the steep side of the knoll to intercept the questers on the plain between the spurs. It was Heger Nort and three conspiratorial colleagues.
    â€œTreachery!” said Nort, without preamble, as they met. “One of our lot was a quisling for the Veiled King—rather, for his priests. Which amounts to the same thing. He must have told the priests there were dubious outsiders—you’ll excuse my way with words—in Inquanok. Anyway, he’s been taken care of, permanently! But last night a good many priests left the temple in a hurry and set out in all directions, but mainly north. We suspect they’ll be looking for you. So we came looking for you too, to warn you.”
    Hero nodded. “We’re grateful. But anyway, our business here is finished now.”
    â€œEh?” Nort looked puzzled. “Your quest’s at an end, you say? Care to explain?”
    Hero sighed. “It seems I’ll have to,” he answered. “Very well, I’ll give you the gist of it. I’ll not say what I personally suspect, but let you make up your own minds. I’ll tell it as we go. After that—it’s all yours.”
    And tell it he did. Two miles later they stood all six at the fringe of the firs and the story was finished, at least in outline. But Hero had framed his tale so as to make no direct