Clovermead looked around at the desolate landscape. Piles of rubble and ash loomed up in the darkness. Behind them the Yellowjackets and the slaves were retreating up into the narrow opening of Yarrow’s Way. There were only three paths from Barleymill into the valley, each of them running between piles of slag. Great boulders perched precariously on the summits of the piles.
“I can go and knock down some rocks,” said Clovermead. “Those things look like they’ll avalanche if you look at them funny, and that would cut off the paths. Can you delay the bear-priests until I get the boulders down?”
“All by myself?” Sorrel rolled his eyes. “One of the things I love about you is the way you ask me something that is patently impossible with such a thoughtful, serious look. ‘She is mad,’ I tell myself, and then somehow I end up doing what you have asked.”
“What else can we do?” asked Clovermead. “There’s just the two of us.”
“I wish I came up with more ideas,” said Sorrel. “I am positive that some of them would be less dangerous.” He reached down and gripped Clovermead’s hand in his, then released her. “Do hurry. I cannot keep the bear-priests away for long.” Then he was galloping away toward the main gate of Barleymill.
“I’ll be quick,” said Clovermead, and then she was scrambling up the nearest ash hill. The surface was soft, and pebbles fell as she climbed. The stones were greasy with the stain of quicksilver. Her hands and feet, already abraded, itched worse as they rubbed the rough ore.
Clovermead came to the top and she looked back at the Barleymill gates. Sorrel was pounding toward the town gates in the darkness, howling as he came to the torches of the gates, with his sword drawn. The gates were just opening, and Sorrel stabbed the first bear-priest through the chest before the surprised man could draw his own scimitar. The bear-priest fell back with a scream, and his body slammed into the bear-priest behind him, and knocked him off his horse. The riderless horse stumbled and fell onto the ground between the opening gates, and his limbs entangled in the swinging metal. The bear-priests behind cried out in frustration, and swung down from their horses to clear the gates while Sorrel rode into the darkness again, crying out his triumph.
Silver-bears screamed behind the gates. They were anxious to be hunting.
Clovermead transformed, grew, let fur and muscles, claws and fangs, come to her. Her paws still ached, and the iron slivers went deep into her tender flesh. She stood up on two legs, and leaned and pushed against the nearest boulder. It was a rough cube, perhaps twelve feet across on each side. It groaned and creaked under the pressure of her paws, dug mulishly into its bed—and sprang out! Grumbling, rolling, biting up pebbles behind it, it rolled down toward the valley below. Half of the loose slope came with it, from sand and pebbles to rocks half the size of the boulder. Clovermead stumbled to a boulder almost as large as the first one and sent it plummeting after the first one. Now even more of the slope crashed down, and Clovermead was caught in the slippage. She struggled to keep her balance as she half-fell, half-ran down the slope of collapsing ash. A rock the size of her fist banged hard into her shoulder; she roared in pain, but had no time to focus on the bruise. Then she was down at the bottom of the gulch. Fifty feet of it was covered with rubble ten feet high, and no horse could ride over it. Clovermead growled with satisfaction, turned human, and began to scramble up the next slope.
Sorrel was conducting a desperate fighting retreat between two ash hills on the far side of the Barleymill gates. Fooled, the bear-priests and silver-bears came after him, and ignored the slaves’ actual route of retreat. The silver-bears came so fast that Sorrel had to gallop pell-mell in the darkness. Clovermead prayed that Brown Barley wouldn’t trip and fall. The silver-bears’ screams were more eager than ever as they inched closer to Sorrel. A bear-priest fired an arrow into the darkness—and it hit Sorrel! Clovermead felt her heart turn to ice, but it had just grazed his arm and she could breathe again.
Boulderbash bounded out of the gates of Barleymill. Lucifer Snuff rode on her back, but this time he had no bit and no reins, no eye-patches to blind her. She rode free of control, but listened to Snuff as he whispered instructions to her. They were a terrible centaur, with strength, intelligence, and malice combined in their fused figure. Boulderbash snuffled at the darkness—and raced toward Clovermead. Snuff yelled, and the silver-bears and bear-priests turned away from Sorrel to follow Boulderbash.
“Lady’s wimple,” Clovermead cursed. “By her knotted belt!” She was up the second slope by now, and she pushed at more boulders with frantic haste. There were no boulders bigger than six feet across here, and none produced so satisfying an avalanche as the last one had. She had to push four, five, six, before the whole scree collapsed in a slow but powerful wave. Clovermead came down in a surge of dust, a constant undertow that threatened to suck her beneath the flow of ash and rock. Clovermead’s arms and legs grew sore as she struggled not to slip, and then the second path was blocked. The ash was only six feet deep here, but it covered a hundred feet of the path with a morass almost as treacherous as quicksand. Just one path left, thought Clovermead. She toiled up the third slope, and her lungs and ribs were aching and weary.
Sorrel galloped toward her, struggling to catch up with Boulderbash. He raced the silver-bears and bear-priests that had turned to follow Snuff, struggled to overtake them, and squeezed such speed from Brown Barley that she outpaced the fastest Phoenixian any bear-priest rode. Even the silver-bears fell behind her. Bear-priests sent crossbow bolts whipping through the night toward Sorrel. Sorrel crouched low over Brown Barley as bolts ripped open the clothes on his back and sliced through his hair.
Clovermead was at the top of the third hill, and here was the obvious boulder to create a great avalanche, a monster twenty feet across and made of squat, hard granite that would scoop out a hill full of ash as it rolled. It’s so big, thought Clovermead. And I’m so tired. Lady, help me. She set herself up against it, and began to push once more.
The iron shards pushed even deeper into her paws, and she howled. The boulder creaked, but so did her spine and her ribs, and the bones in her arms and legs. I’m strong, Clovermead told herself desparately. There isn’t a human on earth who could even move this stone. This is why I have the bear-strength, the bear-shape. It’s so I can do something impossible, and stop the bear-priests and keep the slaves free. You made me strong, Lady. Make me strong enough to move this stone. She pushed harder and the stone creaked some more—and then creaked again as it fell back into its resting place.
Sorrel had passed the silver-bears and caught up with Snuff. The two of them were coming up fast to the valley before her. Snuff swung out with his scimitar, and Boulderbash clawed at Brown Barley even as she charged ahead. Sorrel swerved—and a crossbow bolt chunked through his calf. Clovermead heard him scream, saw him sway on Brown Barley’s back. The tip had come through the front of his trouser-leg. The ash hills shone their poisonous light, and Clovermead could see blood spurting down his leg. Sorrel screamed again, but still he made himself ride, still he struck at Snuff. He grazed Snuff’s elbow.
No! Clovermead howled. Then all words dissolved from her roars, and she pushed at the boulder with all the strength of terrible grief. This time the boulder moved when she pushed. It ground rocks beneath it to powder, the boulder groaned as low and terrible as an earthquake, and it began to roll downhill. It moved slowly and ponderously at first, but then it gained speed. The whole hill followed it, and this time Clovermead simply let the rocks carry her down. She rode the collapsing slope toward the oncoming silver-bears and bear-priests. They were all there in the valley, Sorrel and Snuff and Boulderbash, the four snarling silver-bears, and the first score of bear-priests. The wall of rocks came down toward them, and Clovermead could see Snuff turn toward the slope with amazement in his eyes and yell at Boulderbash to run faster. Sorrel grinned with delight as he saw the avalanche, and he squeezed Brown Barley with his knees. She, too, raced toward the land beyond the avalanche. Behind them the silver-bears and the bear-priests turned back, but they were too late. The rocks came crashing down on bears and bear-priests, on Snuff and Boulderbash, on Sorrel and Clovermead.
Clovermead fought free from a foot of pebbles and ash. When she emerged, the dust that had risen from the avalanche had settled down, and the sky was clear again. Praise Our Lady, she thought. It’s a miracle I didn’t get crushed or suffocated. She stumbled forward and then she heard Sorrel crying “Clovermead! Clovermead!” as she stumbled into the valley beyond. There was no one but the two of them. The rocks behind them had blocked the valley, buried their pursuers, and no bear-priests would come through there until daybreak at least.
Clovermead turned human as she stumbled onto the packed flat ground, and there was Sorrel. He brought Brown Barley to a halt, but he couldn’t get down from her. The bolt in his calf was in the way. Clovermead lifted up a furred arm to break the awful thing, but Sorrel said, “No, Clovermead! It might break in me. Leave it for a Yellowjacket. They know how to remove such things smoothly.”
“You’re still bleeding,” Clovermead said numbly. “Oh, Sorrel, I’m so sorry.”
“We are both alive,” said Sorrel. He laughed, almost hysterically. “I thought I had done well tonight. I have killed at least three bear-priests and wounded another five, and only have some arrow-shot to pay for it. But you have buried twenty at once, and silver-bears, too, as you played ninepins with mountain-slopes. Not even Yarrow did the like.” His hand came down to clap her admiringly on the back.
“I killed them, didn’t I?” said Clovermead bleakly. Her heart barely twinged. I’ve grown used to murder, she thought. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. Why am I the one who has to do this? Then she barked with cold laughter. I choose to do this. To kill. I won’t forget that, and I won’t make excuses. It’s always my choice.
“I’m awfully tired,” she said. “Can I ride Brown Barley with you?”
“I think that is possible,” said Sorrel. “We can ride up to the Yellowjackets and the slaves, and tell them what we have done. It should be dawn when we arrive. Yes, let us go now.” He reached down to lift up Clovermead.
Not so fast, little cub, Clovermead heard in her mind, and the rocks shifted behind them. She turned to see a boulder three feet across fly out of the avalanche. Another boulder soared into the air, and then Boulderbash emerged from the heart of the rubble. Snuff was on her back, and they swam out of the cinders. They were covered with silvery ash, and they looked more like one beast than ever, almost adhered together. All four of their eyes glowed red. Lord Ursus’ blood-power was thick in them. You can’t stop us that easily, Boulderbash growled. You’ll have to drop a bigger mountain on us.
Sorrel drew his sword, but Clovermead saw him shake with weakness, saw blood drip from his leg. “Run,” she said. “Catch up with the soldiers. I’ll distract Snuff.”
“I can’t leave you,” said Sorrel. “We’ll fight them together again—”
“You’ll bleed to death if you stay,” Clovermead almost screamed. “Go to your family. They need protecting.” Sorrel still looked irresolute, Boulderbash was getting free of the rubble, and Clovermead didn’t have time to argue. “Good-bye, Sorrel,” she said. “I don’t have any better ideas.” Then her mouth was lengthening into a snout, and she roared, so Brown Barley neighed in panic and galloped off, and Sorrel didn’t have a choice anymore. As Brown Barley fled into the darkness, Clovermead was turning into a bear. She readied herself to fight, and then Snuff and Boulderbash leaped at her.
Boulderbash’s great paws buffeted Clovermead, and Snuff’s sword slashed along her side. Boulderbash bit savagely into Clovermead’s fur, and pulled out a tuft of fur six inches across. Clovermead was able to scratch her claws along Boulderbash’s left forepaw, but that was all. Clovermead was big in bear-shape, but Boulderbash was huge. I can’t fight her, thought Clovermead. She’ll kill me. Boulderbash bit at Clovermead’s neck, just missed her, and Clovermead’s remaining courage fled from her. She turned in helpless fear, and she ran. Boulderbash came after her, she and Snuff howled with the joy of the chase, and Clovermead was their prey. Only the slight limp Clovermead had just given Boulderbash kept the great bear from catching up with her at once.
Clovermead ran in darkness with Boulderbash’s breath hot on her heels. Once, Clovermead had dreamed Lord Ursus was chasing her through northern woods, and this was like that, but it was real. She heard no thoughts from Snuff and Boulderbash now, only felt their murderous rage. She had no idea if she was running after the slaves or in a different direction. She fled through the wilderness of ash hills, and tried to ignore the pain in her ribs. It was a flame inside her and she ran slower with every minute.
The slope beneath them began to rise, and Clovermead felt stubbly grass beneath her feet once more. They were some miles from Barleymill, and they had left behind the poisoned earth and piles of rubble at last. Boulderbash still came after her, But at least I’ll die on clean ground, thought Clovermead. That’ll be a relief. And it wouldn’t be long now. She could feel the last of her energy giving way.
Boulderbash was coming nearer, and Snuff cried out at last in triumph. They were only a few feet behind Clovermead, she heard Boulderbash leap at her in mid-air, and there was nothing Clovermead could do. Her legs kept on going mechanically—
But there was no ground underneath her. She was falling, Boulderbash’s claws missed her in midair, and then the bear was yowling in surprise. Clovermead bounced against a small tree, then against a rock, and she was plummeting with Boulderbash and Snuff down the side of a gorge. All three of them fell at once, Snuff still screaming in shock, but Clovermead had no breath left in her to scream. She simply rolled and fell, and it was a relief not to have to move or to think anymore. It doesn’t take any effort at all to fall, thought Clovermead. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind more falling and less fighting.
Then Clovermead’s head knocked hard against a rock, and the world went black.