CHAPTER 31
The blaze of white warmth cooled to sunlight and pain. Dennis had fallen forward, his knees on the ground and his torso sprawled against Malbawn.
One of Malbawn's middle legs was prodding at Dennis with the disconnected sluggishness of a windmill with broken vanes. Sharp nodules on the back of the pincers left a line of bloody welts over the youth's ribs every time they struck him.
Malbawn was dead. Half the length of Dennis' sword had slid through the neck joint and was buried within the creature's body. Green ichor oozed from the beak, and the only light in the faceted eyes was the sun's reflection.
One of Chester's tentacles wrapped the twitching leg and prevented its autonomic motions from injuring Dennis further.
"Is it your wish that I continue to run, master?" the robot asked.
Dennis couldn't remember his metal friend ever coming so close to disobeying an ill-conceived order.
"Thank you," the youth whispered.
The creature's acid stench had left the inside of Dennis' mouth raw. He tried to raise himself, but the movement caused spasms in the muscles of his ribs and lower back. He couldn't even scream.
Three of Chester's tentacles lifted Dennis gently, taking his weight and permitting his muscles to quiver out of their tension.
"Thank you," Dennis repeated. "Thank you..."
"He who loves his friends, Dennis, finds his friends around him at a time of need," the robot said. He stepped back, carrying Dennis without apparent difficulty.
Malbawn's limb twitched once when Chester released it, then stiffened into rigidity. Sparkling insects gathered in clusters around the creature's dripping wounds.
Dennis tried again to stand up. He managed it this time with his palm braced on Chester's carapace and one of the robot's tentacles curled about his waist for further support.
"Wait," the youth said in a voice so soft that only Chester could have heard the word.
He tugged at the hilt of the Founder's Sword with his right hand. The deep-thrust blade resisted. Curling the fingers of his left hand around the cross-guard to spread the effort, Dennis leaned back and let the weight of his upper body work for him.
The blade slid free. Slimy fluid made a sucking gurgle as it gushed from Malbawn's beak.
"Is it into the shade that you would like me to help you, Dennis?" the robot prompted.
Dennis took a deep breath. He laid the flat of the blade across the fingers of his left hand, the only way he could carry the heavy sword without letting its point drag on the ground. He knew he wouldn't be able to use the weapon for—he didn't dare think how long. His whole body felt as if it were encased in bands of hot iron like a barrel while the hoops were being shrunk onto it.
"They sent me out to die," Dennis whispered.
"That is so, Dennis," the robot agreed calmly. "But you did not die."
Dennis cautiously lowered his left hand and let his right take all the weight of the Founder's Sword. Light shivered across the metal and the slime that covered half of it, but he could hold it after all.
"There's shade in Malbawn's hut," he said. "Let's see what else is waiting there."
Together, a tentacle curled in Dennis' palm for support and for friendship, the companions strode into the creature's dwelling.
Dennis had expected a cramped dome. Instead, the interior stretched back into the jungle, carried on arched saplings. Light crept through chinks in the leaf-mat covers, but the same openings let in the daily rains. The atmosphere within was dank and thickened by the mold growing on the walls and the dirt floor.
Dennis slipped as something turned beneath his foot. Chester steadied him. He looked down, his pupils dilated in the dim light.
He gagged. If there'd been anything in his stomach, he would have lost it.
"Do not let life be spoiled for you because another has died," Chester quoted.
"I should have expected the bones," Dennis said.
Most of them were cattle bones, broad ribs and femurs massive enough each to carry its share of a half ton of cow.
The human skull that had almost thrown Dennis now quivered on the packed ground before him, smiling for the rest of eternity.
"How many...?" Dennis started to ask, but he let his voice trail off because he didn't really know what he meant by the question. How many deaths? How many men?
How many years had this gone on, Rakastava sending visitors out to have their bones sucked clean by Malbawn?
Just inside the door was a pile of weapons, their metal parts rusty and the wood on many had rotted away. There were a few swords, but for the most part it was a rustic arsenal: spears, only a few of which had steel points; crude, single-edged knives; flails; and a club inlaid with sharpened flints...
I can see you're a bold lad. You won't mind leading our cattle out in the morning. We keep a herd for trade with the locals.
But not trade with the lizardfolk. For a thing that lived in the jungle and called itself Malbawn. And so long as Rakastava fed Malbawn, Malbawn wouldn't disturb Rakastava.
Dennis' vision blurred with tears of anger and frustration.
The only thing within the hut that wasn't the detritus of a carnivore was the mirror to the left of the doorway. It was a large glass mounted between two piers, as high as Dennis was tall. He stared at the ghost of himself on the surface, vague because of the lighting but not distorted.
"Chester," the youth asked. "What's this doing here?"
"If you wish to see a thing, Dennis, or a place," the robot replied, "you may ask the mirror and it will show you."
"Huh?" Dennis said. He blinked. His reflection blinked back.
The sword was getting heavy. He lowered the point carefully, setting it on a cow's pelvis rather than the slimy floor. He didn't want to sheathe the blade until he'd wiped it clean and smoothed the nicks from its edge with his whetstone. Gray light trembled on the sword and on the glass before it.
"Show me—" and he meant to say 'Emath' but his tongue formed instead "—the Princess Aria."
The mirror clouded into dull uniformity, then brightened. It reflected the interior of a room in Rakastava. The walls were mother-of-pearl, sunless but glowing sun-bright with their internal radiance. The bedspread was the color of red coral.
The princess was sprawled on her face across the bed. She wore a shift as gauzy and translucent as the fan of her blond hair.
She was sobbing into her hands, making the bed and the curves of her body on it tremble.
Dennis turned his head. "I don't want to watch this any more," he mumbled; but his eyes glanced sideways for a last look at Aria as the glass blanked and then became only a mirror again.
"The fortunate house is praised because of the character of its mistress," Chester said approvingly.
Dennis felt dizzy. For a moment he wasn't sure he could grip his sword, much less hold it up. Even after the spell passed, he knew he was light-headed with weakness.
"Let's get outside," he said to his companion. "I need to eat and drink something."
He paused. "I need to get outside."
The cattle watched uncaring as Chester helped his master into a bower of broad-leafed fruiting vines at the jungle's edge. Dennis dozed or stared with empty eyes as the robot's tentacles squeezed juice into the corner of his mouth and sponged him with leaves still dew-damp from the shade.
Nearby, the insects buzzed and sparkled in their dance above Malbawn's corpse. Their music eased Dennis into a sleep of pure exhaustion.