Land of Unreason (27 page)

            He banked, fumbling for the
kobold sword, and trying to bring the attacker into vision. A hiss of feathers
overhead accompanied by a second cry from the raven gave him momentary warning
again, and he put strength into a drive forward and up. The change of pace
threw his attacker more wildly off, but something slashed down a calf muscle.
As he felt his hose turn warm with blood another bank gave him a view of these
attackers, now below and beating up toward him.

            They were giant black
eagles, almost as big as he was, and a second glance showed him that each had
two
(2)
well-developed heads. One
of them was, in fact, snapping and striking with one head at the raven which
swooped over it, while the other head spied for direction. But it was only a
glimpse; the warning hiss sounded again and Barber jerked frantically side-wise
to dodge the strike of a third eagle. The tip of a black wing caught him a
dizzying blow on die side of the head, knocking off his plumed hat.

            He made a quick estimate of
the distance between himself and the rocks, then threw himself on his back to
see where these heraldic monstrosities were coming from. At first he could make
out nothing; then he spotted two more, almost exactly between him and the moon.
One was diving, close enough to grow visibly in size as he watched, but not
diving at him, for beneath the stroke Barber saw moon-reflection from the
glossy back of another raven. The bird avoided; there was a flurry of motion as
the eagle checked and the two ramped against each other, their battle cries
thinned by distance. Then the second eagle folded its wings and came in on
Barber.

            Two could play at that game,
he thought, flipping over into normal flying position and dropping for the
mountain crests. Wind whistled through his hair in ascending pitch. Behind he
heard a high, piercing screech, the sound of a rusty hinge. It had a distinct
warble; no doubt, thought Barber, the heterodyning effect of a slight
difference in pitch between the two larynxes belonging to a single eagle.

            The top of a mountain grew
at him, jagged and formidable. He spread and leveled off, with the strain
tearing at his pectoral muscles. The horrible thought came to him that he'd
miscalculated; he'd crash, didn't have strength to pull out of the dive ...

            Then the mountaintop drove
past. He was still going down, but down a slope, and a twig-tip slashed across
the back of his right hand. At his hundred-mile-an-hour speed it stung like a
whip and left a little line of emergent blooddrops.

            A glance showed that the
eagle above had pulled up sooner than himself and was now joined by one of
those that had attacked at first. Far off, another was engaged with one of the
friendly ravens and seemed to be winning, for the smaller bird was only trying
to beat off the attack and get away. Before he could make up his mind to do
anything about it the two eagles above became three—five—six, they tipped over
and came plummeting down at him with nerve-shattering screams.

            Barber, cocking his head
this way and that, dodged like the bat whose wings he bore. A claw touched his
cheek. He tacked frantically; a wing struck one of his own, half numbing it and
sending him tumbling. As he forced the painful member to pump, a victory-scream
sounded from behind, probably over one of the ravens, he thought angrily, and
put on speed.

            The eagles had shot past,
low over the valley. Now they swirled up in a cloud and sorted themselves into
a diagonal line, like geese. Three more swam up out of nowhere and attached
themselves to the end of the line, and they came toward him, all nine pairs of
wings flapping in synchronism. Their intention was obvious. With a jar Barber
realized that those predatory double-headers held brains enough for intelligent
combination. One or two he could dodge, but nine, diving in quick succession,
would get him sure.

            He flew at utmost speed for
a few moments, then came round in a sweeping circle to see whether they would
follow if he affected to give up the direction he had chosen. They did; the
hostility was implacable then, related to his existence and not his movements.
There was nothing to do but fight them then, and oddly remembering a quotation
from Kipling to the effect that a savage attacked was much less dangerous than
a savage attacking, he pivoted on easy wings and slanted upward, whipping out
the sword.

            The eagle formation—another
had joined it now— came up with him, holding the same strict alignment, but
with the birds craning their doubled neck's and screeching at each other, as
though in perplexity. Barber felt a momentary thrill of gratification. He hoped
it was not wishful thinking to deduce that, although the monsters were capable
of plan, they lacked mental flexibility, the capacity to meet an unforeseen
situation. He could climb faster, too, with his wide wing-spread and better
balance; he was past and gaining, the formation went a little uncertain, and he
peeled off into an almost vertical drop.

            The sword-arm came down with
the added motion of his descent, taking one of them where wing joined body, and
Barber shouted with delight as he felt the blade bite through. The eagle went
spinning and screeching downward; Barber gave one swift wing-stroke and brought
his sword up backhand onto the neck of the next in line. One head flew from the
body, the other head squeaked, and the eagle began to fly in a zany circle.
Another swing sent one tumbling in a tangle of feathers, and the formation
broke up, eagles spreading in all directions.

            Barber pursued one, caught
it and killed it with a blow. Kipling was right and the things were practically
helpless against attack from above. He went into a long glide to gain distance,
looking for, but seeing no sign of the ravens. They must have been finished
off, poor birds. Off in the distance the formation he had broken up was
gathering again, and more eagles were coming up, some to reinforce the
shattered group, others to form a new one, which immediately began to climb.

            Barber drove for altitude,
got above them, and dived in, killing several eagles. But the other formation
climbed while he was about it and delivered a diving attack; it took both sharp
flying and quick swordwork to get away unscathed. While he was about it more
eagles came up to join those already on hand; there must be at least
twenty-five or thirty not counting those he had got rid of. At this rate they
would smother him with mere press of numbers long before the night was done,
and he had no assurance that the confounded double-headers were not diurnal.

            Clearly, this counterattack
in the air would get him nowhere in the long run, and equally clearly something
better would have to be found soon. The eagles, he observed, climbing to stay
above the latest arrivals, all seemed to come from the same direction. Probably
they belonged to the forces of that mysterious Enemy to whom Oberon had
referred. Their sudden attack might be on general principles, due to original
sin, but the way they had kept after him even when he turned back did not look
like it. Neither did their constant multiplication. More likely he was getting
too close for comfort to that third place of the Fairyland prophecy.

            Too close for the Enemy's
comfort. He recalled how his touch on the first of those places had put a stop
to the kobolds' antisocial activities and wondered whether there had been any
improvement in the tangled and difficult life of the Pool since he touched the
second. Below him forty-five or fifty double-headed eagles were circling and
screaming, spreading to form a network which should be too wide and deep for
penetration. He was so high now that the mountains beneath had lost relief and
were spread like a flat picture map, with shadows and patches of green for
coloring.

            If he took the bull by the
horns and sought out the birds' point of origin, he might both find the third
place and cut off the supply of eagles at its source. In any event, it seemed
the only plan worth trying, since going back to Oberon with this following of
impossible eagles did not commend itself.

            Other eagles were coming to
join those beneath him, their direction clearly marked from this height. He
swooped down a thousand feet or so, and saw the latest comers circle round to
join those gathering in a cloud of wings behind him. In addition to the ability
to combine efforts, they evidently possessed a good communications system and
had passed on word that he was too dangerous an opponent for singlehanded
attack.

            After a while no more eagles
seemed to be coming. Barber circled, looking down, and perceived that he was
over an amazingly tall, prominent peak. His eyesight seemed exceptionally
good—probably another Fairyland gift, like the wings. Another circle; behind,
the eagles were spreading out in a widening crescent to shut him in,
methodically and with no indication of haste. A single eagle came soaring up
from the shadow of the peak; Barber closed wings, dove and killed it before it
knew he was there, noticing as he did so that the shadow from which it had
flown held a single spot of iridescent light.

            Toward this he flew; as he
did so, the flock behind him burst into screams and began to close, overhead as
well as on all sides. But he held course and came to a landing on the ledge
where the spot was.

            It was a ball of some
brownish but shiny substance, perhaps a yard in diameter. Barber tapped it with
his sword and was instantly rewarded by a chorus of screams from the eagles
above. The ball gave off a sharp, dry wooden sound, and when he swung at it
full arm, only moved slightly without breaking. It appeared to be attached to
the ledge.

            The eagles overhead screamed
again and one swooped at Barber. He struck it down, a neat blow, right between
the paired necks. Another dove at him, and as he dodged, crashed into the rocks
and went tumbling a thousand feet down in a cloud of feathers.

            A sharp
ping
made
Barber look round. The globe had vanished into a haze of golden particles. On
the ledge where it had been sat a new young eagle, shaking dampness from its
feathers. It spied Barber and opened its beaks, but he took both heads off with
a single sweeping stroke, and dodged another suicidal dash from above.

            On the spot where ball and
then eagle had been was a circular hole in the ledge, about the size of a
broomstick, with a smooth, shiny lip. As Barber watched, with glances overhead,
another sphere appeared at the mouth of this hole and grew like a bubble.

            Two more eagles had died in
attacks from above when this one reached the size of the first. Barber twice
hit it with all his strength and no result. A moment later it shattered. Barber
killed the eagle it contained and kicked its carcass off the ledge; a
proceeding obviously futile, since a new egg began to grow immediately. The
process appeared endless, and there was nothing to plug the hole with, the
ledge as bare as a banker's head and as hard as his heart.

            Another eagle swooped from
above, and as Barber lowered his sword after cutting down the bird his elbow
touched Titania's wand, still stuck through his belt. The very thing! When the
next egg dissolved, he rapidly slew the eagle it contained, reached over and
before the new bubble could come forth, rammed the wand in. It went home to a
tight fit, and from within the hole came a bubbling tumult like the cooking of
a gigantic kettle, but no more balls appeared.

            The eagles above burst into
such an ear-splitting racket that Barber could hardly hear himself think, and
all around him began diving at the cliff in witless frenzy. Thump! Thump! they
landed, bounding off into the black depths below with flying feathers, utterly
neglecting Barber in their furious desire for death; and soon there were no
more eagles visible, on the ledge or in the sky. The tubelike orifice still
gave forth a sound of boiling. Barber did not quite dare to withdraw the wand,
but after a few minutes' rest, he hung his sword at his side and took to wing
again.

            As he soared above the peak
in now-empty air he noted something unseen before on the far horizon. Not a
mountain nor a meadow, it was as tall as the former and wide as the latter,
smooth and shining like the roc's egg of Sindbad. Barber flew toward it.

-

            Ice. The roc's egg was ice.

            Fred Barber knew it long
before he arrived at that glistening and translucent structure by the chill
that hung round it, though that chill—strangely, to his senses attuned to
another world—brought no mist in the air and the great dome showed no sign of
melting. "Princes of the Ice," Oberon had said, and this was doubtless
their residence, the central seat of power of that Enemy he was arrayed
against.