of Virk, this part of the road crossed a wilderness devoid of human habitation. Soaring trees and dense tangles of thorn-fern, vines, and nearly impenetrable vegetation hemmed in the mireway and even overhung it in many stretches, so that it sometimes seemed to Queen Anigel that they rode through a green tunnel curtained by misty rain.
The advance party made a halt at midday, eating cold food and resting while a welcome sun broke briefly through the clouds, causing the roadway to steam. But by the time the riders remounted storm clouds had returned, together with a rising wind. Nevertheless Anigel found herself dozing in the saddle as the patient fronials moved slowly onward, their antlered heads bobbing, the tendons in their legs clicking, and their splayed hooves clip-clopping on the mossy stones. Overhead, the leaden sky became more and more oppressive, although the heavy rain held off.
The Queen was jolted into wakefulness when occasional whiffs of stomach-turning stench began to contaminate the wind. No one was much surprised when General Gorkain came riding back through the ranks of knights and saluted the King and Queen before delivering grim news.
‘A scout reports freshly scoured raffin bones on the mireway ahead, and the cobbles show sign of Skritek spawn. We will halt here in order to close up the gap between our advance group and the main body of the caravan. The Lord Marshal and the Oathed Companions will provide Your Majesties with close escort, and foot-soldiery will come forward to accompany us until the danger is past. I have also sent a messenger to summon Crown Prince Nikalon and Princess Janeel. It is no longer safe for them to range up and down the procession casually with their young friends.’
‘Very well,’ said Antar. ‘You may carry on.’
The General touched his helm-visor in salute and spun his fronial about. But before he could ride away there were shouts from the knights ahead. ‘Spawn! Spawn on the road!’
Gorkain swore and spurred his mount forward, drawing his two-handed sword. Marshal Lakanilo and a dozen Oathed Companions closed in around the King, the Queen, and Immu, lances couched, while others of the elite group followed the General.
An excruciating foul odour spread through the air. For a time everyone was quiet and the only sounds were distant hoof-beats, the creak of harness, and the hiss and patter of the rain.
Then Immu whispered, ‘See there!’ She pointed to a dark slough at the right of the mireway, half-screened by thornless fodderfern twice the height of a man.
Rising from the scummy water were dozens of glistening white shapes, some nearly the size of a human body, others much smaller. They resembled odious fat worms or grubs, lacking obvious heads but having stubby limbs equipped with razorlike claws. Their foreparts lifted as they reached the narrow verge beside the roadbed, revealing wide open mouths with green teeth that dripped venom. The blind monsters swayed from side to side questing for prey, which they tracked with their keen hearing.
For an instant the riders were frozen with horror. Then one young knight exclaimed, ‘Zoto’s Stones, what detestable things! Like giant corpse-maggots!’
At the sound of his voice the Skritek spawn began humping and wriggling up the embankment toward the road.
King Antar’s longsword sang as it left its scabbard. ‘Follow me, Oathed Companions!’
He sent his fronial skidding down the steep slope, the Lord Marshal and the knights following closely after, and with a single sweeping stroke he smote one of the leading spawn in two. It disintegrated, splashing vile jelly-like ichor all over the King. The Companions spitted other bloodthirsty Skritek young on their lances or put them to the sword, crying out in anger and disgust as they were also drenched by evil-smelling fluids from the spawn bodies.
Lakanilo’s fronial fell to the muddy ground, squealing in agony, its foreleg held fast in poisoned jaws. But the Companions raced to the Lord Marshal’s rescue, hauling him to safety, slaying the tenaciously clinging spawn, and granting merciful death to the doomed antilopine steed.
It was not long before all of the larvae were either killed or fled, leaving Antar and the knights beslimed from helm to heel. Victorious cries from the road ahead signalled that the other pod of immature Skritek had also been routed by Gorkain and his men.
‘Well done,’ cried Queen Anigel warmly.
But the King looked down upon his filthied person with a grimace. ‘Only the Triune knows how we shall remove this mess from ourselves, unless we take a headlong leap into the swamp and exchange mud for spawn-slime.’
As if in answer, thunder rumbled overhead and a deluge of rain pelted down. Antar removed his helm, tilted his head so water bathed his face, and laughed. ‘Thank you, gracious Lords of the Air! By the time the main column catches up with us, we may almost be fit for civilized society again.’
‘Perhaps you should return to your carriage, my Queen,’ Lord Marshal Lakanilo suggested to Anigel. He was a tall man of sparse flesh, whose manner was grave and dignified in spite of his befouled appearance. He had been appointed to his office following the heroic death of Lord Marshal Owanon in the Battle of Derorguila.
The Queen shook her head, dismissing the suggestion that she should retire. ‘Heavens, no, Lako! With the smell of Skritek now stronger than ever, my ladies will wrap their faces in perfume-soaked veils. Frankly, my nose is less offended by the smell of the monsters.’
Princess Janeel and Crown Prince Nikalon came cantering up with a group of noble attendants and gave noisy greeting to their parents and the Oathed Companions.
‘Phew!’ cried the Princess, pinching her nose. ‘The spawn-reek is much worse up here – oh!’ She screamed at the sight of the slaughtered creatures.
‘They are quite dead, my Lady,’ the Lord Marshal said. ‘There is nothing to fear.’
Prince Nikalon had drawn his sword and his eyes were alight as he surveyed the noisome remains. ‘Are you certain, Lako? Perhaps we’d better reconnoitre the swamp. I’m ready!’ At fifteen, he had nearly attained a man’s stature and wore a helm and breastplate and military cape.
‘Ready ready ready!’ Immu exclaimed crossly. ‘Your royal parents and the Oathed Companions must now feel very relieved that such a great champion has arrived.’
‘Oh, Immu,’ groaned the Prince. The knights were laughing, but with good humour for they all were very fond of the impetuous Niki.
‘There is no need for us to leave the road,’ Antar said. ‘Indeed, it would be foolhardy for us to do so, since the water continues to rise.’
‘Well, I’m sorry I missed the fight. I never saw Skritek spawn before.’ The boy sheathed his sword and began questioning the knights about the attack, and the Lord Marshal sent off for another mount.
Janeel rode closer to her parents and the little old nurse, expressing relief when she was told that the only casualty was a single fronial. ‘What horrible things the spawn are! Is it true that they kill their dams at birth?’
‘More often than not,’ Immu said. ‘Adult Skritek have the use of reason – more or less! – but the young are ravening and mindless. If the mother is lucky, she may leap to safety as each larval offspring drops from her womb, and the spawn will feed upon meat she has provided. But it is more common for the offspring to awaken before birth and gnaw their way from confinement through the mother’s body wall.’
‘Ugh!’ said Janeel. Her face had gone white within the hood of her raincape
