shadow moved in the yellow mist. Gradually it began to emerge; gradually its shape was defined.
It flew upon billowing crimson wings and its grinning face was that of a shark. It looked like something which should have inhabited the sea rather than the air and this was confirmed by the way in which it flew—with slow, undulating wings as if through liquid. Row upon row of sharp fangs filled its red mouth and its body was the size of a large bull, its wingspan nearly thirty feet.
Out of the frightful pit it came, its jaws opening and closing as if it already anticipated its feast. Its golden eyes burned with hunger and with rage.
“It is the Ghanh,” said Noreg-Dan hopelessly. “The Ghanh which led the Chaos pack upon my country. It is one of Queen Xiombarg’s favourite creations. It will take us before ever our swords strike a single blow.”
“So you call it a Ghanh on this plane?” Jhary said with interest. “I have seen it before and, as I remember, I have seen it destroyed.”
“How was it destroyed?” Corum asked him as the Ghanh flew higher and closer.
“That part I forget.”
“If we spread out, we shall have a better chance,” Corum said, backing away from the gorge’s edge. “Quickly.”
“If you’ll forgive the suggestion, friend Corum,” Jhary said as he, too, stepped backwards. “I think your netherworld allies would be of use to us here.”
“Those allies are now the black birds we fought on the mountain. Could they defeat the Ghanh…?”
“I suggest you discover that now.”
Corum flung up the eye-patch and peered again into the netherworld. There they were, a score of black, brooding birds, each with the mark of the barbed Vadhagh lance in its breast. But they saw Corum and they recognized him. One of them opened its beak and screeched in a tone so hopeless that Corum felt almost sympathetic to it.
“Can you understand me?” he said.
He heard Rhalina’s voice. “It is almost upon us, Corum!”
“We—understand—master. Have you—a prize—for us?” said one of the birds.
Corum shuddered. “Aye, if you can take it.”
The Hand of Kwll reached into that murky cavern and it beckoned to the birds. With a dreadful rustling sound they took to the air.
And they flew into the world in which Corum and his companions stood awaiting the Ghanh.
“There,” said Corum. “There is your prize.”
The black birds flung their wounded, dead-alive bodies higher into the sky and began to wheel as the Ghanh swam over the edge of the gorge and opened its jaws, giving a piercing scream as it saw the four mortals.
“Run!” Corum shouted.
They took to their heels, scattering, running through the deep drifts of blood-dust as the Ghanh screamed again and hesitated, deciding which human to deal with first.
Corum choked on the stink of the creature as the wind of its breath touched him. He darted a look backward. He remembered how cowardly the birds had been, how they had taken long to make up their minds to attack him before. Would they have the courage—even though it meant their release from limbo—to attack the Ghanh?
* * *
But now the birds were spearing downwards again at an incredible speed. The Ghanh had not known they were there and it screamed in surprise as their beaks drove into its soft head. It snapped at them and seized two bodies in its jaws. Yet, though half-eaten by the creature, the beaks continued to peck, for the living dead could not be slain again.
The Ghanh’s wings beat close to the ground and a huge cloud of blood-dust rose all around it. Through this dust Corum and the others could see the fray. The Ghanh leapt and twisted and snapped and screamed, but the black birds’ beaks pecked relentlessly at its skull. The Ghanh reared and fell on its back. It twisted its wings so that it was rolled in them, trying to protect its head, and in this peculiar manner tumbled hither and thither across the dust. The black birds flapped into the air then descended
It flew upon billowing crimson wings and its grinning face was that of a shark. It looked like something which should have inhabited the sea rather than the air and this was confirmed by the way in which it flew—with slow, undulating wings as if through liquid. Row upon row of sharp fangs filled its red mouth and its body was the size of a large bull, its wingspan nearly thirty feet.
Out of the frightful pit it came, its jaws opening and closing as if it already anticipated its feast. Its golden eyes burned with hunger and with rage.
“It is the Ghanh,” said Noreg-Dan hopelessly. “The Ghanh which led the Chaos pack upon my country. It is one of Queen Xiombarg’s favourite creations. It will take us before ever our swords strike a single blow.”
“So you call it a Ghanh on this plane?” Jhary said with interest. “I have seen it before and, as I remember, I have seen it destroyed.”
“How was it destroyed?” Corum asked him as the Ghanh flew higher and closer.
“That part I forget.”
“If we spread out, we shall have a better chance,” Corum said, backing away from the gorge’s edge. “Quickly.”
“If you’ll forgive the suggestion, friend Corum,” Jhary said as he, too, stepped backwards. “I think your netherworld allies would be of use to us here.”
“Those allies are now the black birds we fought on the mountain. Could they defeat the Ghanh…?”
“I suggest you discover that now.”
Corum flung up the eye-patch and peered again into the netherworld. There they were, a score of black, brooding birds, each with the mark of the barbed Vadhagh lance in its breast. But they saw Corum and they recognized him. One of them opened its beak and screeched in a tone so hopeless that Corum felt almost sympathetic to it.
“Can you understand me?” he said.
He heard Rhalina’s voice. “It is almost upon us, Corum!”
“We—understand—master. Have you—a prize—for us?” said one of the birds.
Corum shuddered. “Aye, if you can take it.”
The Hand of Kwll reached into that murky cavern and it beckoned to the birds. With a dreadful rustling sound they took to the air.
And they flew into the world in which Corum and his companions stood awaiting the Ghanh.
“There,” said Corum. “There is your prize.”
The black birds flung their wounded, dead-alive bodies higher into the sky and began to wheel as the Ghanh swam over the edge of the gorge and opened its jaws, giving a piercing scream as it saw the four mortals.
“Run!” Corum shouted.
They took to their heels, scattering, running through the deep drifts of blood-dust as the Ghanh screamed again and hesitated, deciding which human to deal with first.
Corum choked on the stink of the creature as the wind of its breath touched him. He darted a look backward. He remembered how cowardly the birds had been, how they had taken long to make up their minds to attack him before. Would they have the courage—even though it meant their release from limbo—to attack the Ghanh?
* * *
But now the birds were spearing downwards again at an incredible speed. The Ghanh had not known they were there and it screamed in surprise as their beaks drove into its soft head. It snapped at them and seized two bodies in its jaws. Yet, though half-eaten by the creature, the beaks continued to peck, for the living dead could not be slain again.
The Ghanh’s wings beat close to the ground and a huge cloud of blood-dust rose all around it. Through this dust Corum and the others could see the fray. The Ghanh leapt and twisted and snapped and screamed, but the black birds’ beaks pecked relentlessly at its skull. The Ghanh reared and fell on its back. It twisted its wings so that it was rolled in them, trying to protect its head, and in this peculiar manner tumbled hither and thither across the dust. The black birds flapped into the air then descended
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