The Golden Steed

CHAPTER TWO

As consciousness slowly returned, Blade realized that he felt considerably worse than usual. His head felt as if somebody had tried to split it open with an axe, and he felt bruised and scraped and gouged all over. He opened his eyes, but closed them again as sunlight stabbed into his eyes, making him wince and his head throb even more. Finally the pain in his head faded away enough so that he tried opening his eyes again.

Two things struck him immediately. First, that battered feeling was nothing imaginary. His body was covered with welts and scrapes and a thick layer of dirt and dust. Blood had clotted black in several open cuts-fortunately small ones. Second, he was as naked as he had ever been. Not even the loincloth had made the trip. Somewhere between Home Dimension and where he was now, he and his survival kit had parted company.

«Damn it,» he said wearily, and lurched to his feet. His head spun and whirled, and he nearly fell flat on his face. Hastily he sat down again, and from a sitting position surveyed his surroundings.

He was on the edge of a dense patch of stout wiry bushes with pale green leaves and smooth black bark. Directly behind him a near-vertical cliff shot up thirty feet, with more of the bushes crowning it. He must have landed on top of the cliff, gone over the edge, and dropped the whole thirty feet into the second patch of bushes below. That was a much narrower escape than he liked to think about. If it hadn't been for the bushes at the bottom-well, a thirty-foot drop onto hard ground laced with rocks could easily have broken his skull or his back. Or it could have merely disabled him, and left him to die slowly of thirst and starvation. As it was, he felt as if he had been worked over by half a dozen men armed with clubs. He stood up and experimentally flexed his limbs. Everything seemed to be in working order. But the effort sent fresh pains shooting through his head. He sat down again and continued his survey.

Ahead of him, the ground dropped away in a rocky forty-five degree slope. At the end of that slope, more than a mile away and nearly half that far below him, a valley floor spread out. Part of it was bare rock and gravel, with a dry river-bed slashing through it. The rest was covered with patches of scrubby bushes and stunted trees. Above the valley floor, steep slopes of jagged blue-gray rock sloped upward to even more jagged ridge lines. Beyond those ridge lines, even higher peaks rose dark against the blue sky except where their tops shone with snow caps. In the blazing sunlight and the clear air, Blade could follow the course of the valley for several miles as it wound away into the distance.

One of his missions as an agent had taken Blade to Iran, so he recognized the type of terrain. He was well up in the foothills of a mountain range, and except for flash floods from melting snow in the spring, rugged, hot by day and cold by night. An ugly, lonely place for a naked man to survive by himself. And a place where a broken leg would have been a death sentence.

Blade put the gloomy might-have-beens behind him and stood up. Down in the valley, the trees would at least provide some shelter from the winds that could easily scour these high, exposed slopes. His eyes roamed over the slope, picking out the easiest route. Then he bent down and snapped a branch from one of the bushes behind him. It would be useless as a weapon. But it might serve to probe the slope ahead of him for loose rocks. The pain in his head had subsided to a dull ache. He picked the first few yards of his path, and started down.

Thousands of centuries of dry baking heat and freezing cold had done their work on the rock, splitting and cracking it insanely and making it treacherous footing. More than once Blade's probing staff sent apparently secure rocks the size of his head leaping out of place and down the slope. And once an entire slab of rock, ten feet on a side, moved under his foot as his weight came down on it. He had just time to jerk himself backward and cling to the firmer rock above. The slab went grinding and crashing down in a cloud of dust, dislodging more and more rocks as it went, until a small avalanche finally crashed down onto the valley floor.

Being even more careful now, Blade continued downward. He guessed it took him another half hour to reach the valley floor. But after that it was only a few minutes' brisk jogging to reach the first clump of trees. He pulled a branch loose and used some of the leaves to wipe the caked dust and grit from his body, while he chewed on other leaves to get some moisture from them. That might help keep him alive for an extra day or two, but he knew he had to find water soon. He decided to wait until evening, and then move down the valley by night in search of water. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but sleep.

Blade had a mental alarm clock that he could set more or less at will. When it woke him, the blazing sun was well down in the sky. The few wisps of cloud in the west were turning into long streamers of red and gold flame as the sun sank through them. Under the trees the shadows were deeper and longer, and there was a chill creeping into the air. It was time to move on. Blade reached up and broke off a heavier branch to give himself a better staff. With this swinging in his right hand, he headed for the riverbed. It offered the easiest walking, and there might be water lurking in the soil below it.

Blade was halfway to the river when screams sounded through the twilight. First a snarling yowl, with something feline in it. Then an unmistakably human scream of surprise, terror, and agony. And finally the shrill, panic-stricken neighing of a horse, followed by a flurry of hooves. The hoofbeats were approaching rapidly. Blade flattened himself behind a tree and stared off in the direction of the noises. He thought he heard a low rumbling snarl off somewhere in the trees.

Then the hoofbeats rose to a climax, bushes smashed, and a horse burst out of the trees into the open. Blade stared at it. There was nothing unusual about its size and shape. It looked more like an Arabian than anything else. But the color made Blade stare and keep staring. The horse was a pale golden color, not the gold of a palomino but a lighter shade, with a mane and tail that shone like burnished silver. It was breathtakingly beautiful as it burst out into the sunset glow. It wore a bridle and saddle with saddlebags slung on either side. The dangling stirrups and the metal fittings of the bridle were silver, and the saddle was rich maroon leather. Blood smeared across the saddle suggested the fate of the rider.

This was all Blade could see of the horse as it raced past him. It was moving so fast that its momentum carried it over the edge of the riverbed before it could get set to jump. Blade heard it neigh again in panic as it lost its balance and tumbled down the side in a scrabbling of hooves. As he heard it hit the bottom, he also heard something else-the soft padding of approaching feet. Then two eyes glowed in the shadows under the trees. Slowly, slowly, like a cat stalking a bird, a huge leopard slipped out into the open.

Blade knew that he had no weapon to give him any chance against the big cat. It was a monster that must have weighed nearly as much as Blade did, and it had speed and agility and tearing claws and teeth. But he was damned if he was going to let it stalk and kill the golden horse. With the horse under him, Blade's chances of survival would increase ten times.

The leopard was moving away from Blade now, slipping along the edge of the riverbed, growling as it went. Blade wet his finger and held it up to test the wind. He was downwind of the leopard. If he moved fast and quietly…

Crouching low, he slipped out from behind the trees, heading toward the edge of the riverbed and the spot where he had last seen the horse. Once he flattened himself on the ground and froze as the leopard stopped to look about. But it was too intent on stalking the horse to spare much attention for anything else. Crawling inch by inch on his belly, Blade reached the edge and looked over.

Fifty feet farther along, the horse was backed against the far side of the riverbed. It was trembling and there was foam dripping from its mouth, but it no longer seemed panic-stricken. It looked as though it were waiting, alert and ready to fight the leopard. This was a horse with the kind of spirit Blade liked. But more interesting than the horse were the weapons he saw slung from the saddle-a yard-long recurve bow and a six-foot lance. But he could see no quiver of arrows. Blade shook his head. He would much rather take the bow if he could and put an arrow into the leopard. But it looked as if he was going to have to try snatching the lance, then wait for the leopard to close in.

As cautiously as the leopard itself, Blade began stalking the horse, crawling along the slope of the riverbed just below the edge. It took him five minutes to cover half the distance. He was beginning to wonder if the leopard had given up and gone off to seek easier prey. Then he heard the same unmistakable rumbling growl from farther down the bank, and saw the horse flinch.

He kept moving, even more cautiously than before. If the horse fled now, he would be left alone with the leopard, with no weapon and no prospect of getting any. He kept on, until the horse seemed almost close enough to touch. But he could see the leopard crouching on the bank above, just as close. This was going to be delicate. Now he could not afford to startle either of the animals.

Suddenly the leopard gave a louder growl than before. The horse reared, lashing out with its front hooves as if it saw the leopard there in front of it. As it came down on all fours, Blade saw its hind legs dig in. It was getting set to bolt. He had to make his move now.

He sprang to his feet and hurled himself down the bank, nearly losing his footing and sprawling on the hard-packed gravel at the bottom. He kept his legs under him with tremendous effort, reached the horse as it reared up again, and snatched the lance from its leather case.

As the lance came free, a growl came from behind him, turning into a scream. The horse bolted with a neigh and a spray of gravel. The leopard soared into the air as steel-spring muscles hurled it out from the bank, arching high as though it were trying to fly. In midair it seemed to catch sight of Blade, took its attention off the horse for a split-second, and landed on the gravel instead of on the horse's back. For a few seconds it seemed confused and crouched motionless instead of lunging in pursuit of the horse. In those seconds Blade lunged forward himself, the lance stabbing downward. The needle-pointed steel head drove into the leopard's back, just behind the shoulder blades.

It reared up with a scream of rage and pain, forepaws flailing the air. It was so strong that for a moment Blade thought it was going to pull itself free of the lance and turn on him. It twisted and jerked from side to side, until Blade began to wonder if the lance shaft were going to snap. Then it reared up one final time, gave a scream that ended in a gurgle, and collapsed on the ground.

Blade pulled the lance out and hastily stepped back, waiting for any more signs of life. The leopard lay motionless. Blade picked up a stone and threw it at the leopard's head. It still did not move. With a sigh of relief he turned to look for the horse. He did not expect to find it anywhere in sight. A horse like that could be a mile away in the time it had taken him to kill the leopard.

But surprisingly the golden horse was standing barely a hundred yards away, head up, staring back at Blade and the dead leopard. As Blade watched it, the horse neighed again and began trotting toward him, head still raised. Somehow the horse seemed to know that the leopard was dead and that this tall man standing over the leopard's body was a friend.

The horse came straight up to Blade and nuzzled at him, warm wet breath blowing in his face. Blade ran his fingers through the shimmering silver mane and down across the well-muscled arched neck.

«Think you need some company, don't you? Well, so do I.» He went on in this vein for some time, keeping his voice low and soothing and paying more attention to his tone than to his words. Gradually the trembling faded away, and the horse thrust its head at Blade until he could grasp the bridle. The horse tugged at the bridle for a moment, then let Blade lead it over to the bank and up to level ground.

The horse was carrying a quiver on the side that had been turned away from him. But there were no arrows left in it. However, Blade had the lance, and in the saddlebags there were flint and steel, a good stout hunting knife, two large skin bags of water, and several packets of hard bread and dried meat. His own survival kit might not have survived the trip into Dimension X, but luck seemed to have provided him with an almost equally good one, and a horse as well.

But there was that human scream he had heard. The horse's master might be-must be-back there in the trees. Blade knew he would have to look for the man and try to help him before he did anything else. He swung himself into the saddle, feeling the horse flinch at first but then become calm. Then he dug in his heels and urged it up to a walk. Even in the fast-fading light, the horse's hoofprints left a clear trail on the ground. Blade did not have to follow the trail very far. Less than a hundred yards back into the shadowy woods, he saw a dark object sprawled on the ground.

Blade dismounted, tethered the horse to a bush, and knelt to examine the body. The man was dead, his throat savaged by the leopard and his head twisted at an unnatural angle by his fall to the ground. Above the bloody, gapping wound, his face was dark, with a wiry black beard and bristling black mustache. A conical helmet with a mail hood attached had fallen off, revealing close-cropped black hair.

The man's clothes gave few clues as to his rank or profession, but suggested that he was from a people more accustomed to walking than riding. His trousers were tight and his boots obviously designed for rough country, with spiked soles and low heels. A broad leather belt with a silver buckle supported a heavy silk purse and a sword in a jeweled scabbard. Blade drew the sword and examined it. It was not a horseman's sword, not with that heavy straight blade. For a weaker man, it might even be a two-handed sword. The hilt ended in a gold eagle's head with jeweled eyes and an enameled crest. It was not a ceremonial sword, either. The nicks in the edge and the scars on the blade told of much use. The purse contained a handful of gold coins-and a small fortune in jewels, mostly sapphires.

There was a mystery piling up here. Blade didn't understand all of it, and those parts he understood he didn't particularly like. That the man had been knocked off his horse and killed by the leopard was obvious. But before that? Why should a man, apparently of high rank, be riding alone up this desolate valley, far from any signs of civilization? Why the empty quiver, and why the freshly battered sword? Those were the parts Blade particularly disliked. It suggested a recent fight, and then a flight from those the man had fought. The same people might still be around, possibly on the trail of the dead man. They might be many miles off, they might be only a few hundred yards away, invisible in the trees and the darkness.

Blade did not know which guess was correct, or even which one was likely. But he knew that he was not going to go blundering about in the darkness. There might not be much he could do to defend himself if the unknown enemies came upon him out of the darkness. But he could at least avoid wandering into any ambushes.

He quietly untied the horse and led it into a thicker patch of trees, then tethered it again to a low branch. Then he dragged the rider's body into the same patch, and stripped it of its cloak. He wrapped the cloak around himself and backed out of the grove, brushing away the tracks as best he could with a broken branch. He moved fifty yards up the valley before he found another small grove dense enough to hide him. Crawling under the bushes, belay down and wrapped himself up in the cloak.

He had done what he could. The horse was tethered where any enemies coming up the valley would have to pass it. If it scented them, he could rely on it to give the alarm. And then he could trust to his sword, the knife, and his own fighting skill to give him a chance.

As for the rest, he wished he had more water and something warmer than the dead man's cloak to keep out the increasing chill of the night. But he and the horse would just have to be sparing with water. And he had slept adequately, if not comfortably, in worse weather with less clothing than he had now. He would just have to manage, as was usual in Dimension X. With an odd feeling that he had come home to his proper place, Blade drifted off to sleep.