After loading their horses with gifts and provisions, the travelers left the Ujjay village and headed back to the river. Ichor had not changed from last week, and Bharaputra still rolled its watery silt past the time-blackened docks. By all counts, the barge had to come here in the morning of the next day. But it did not come in the morning, at noon or at night.
The next day, a boat with two fishermen paddled up to them. They explained, mainly gesturing, that the Mithu ran aground on a sandbank some fifty miles downriver, got a hole in its hull, and the repairs were likely to take over three days.
The news clearly upset Alva. His impatience made any long wait insufferable.
"Three days! I'd die of boredom!" he complained. Suddenly, he beamed. "We could hike upriver, to the point where the two channels meet. We could get on any boat there, and we'd be back in Nishapur in a couple of days. And if the Mithu is good to go early, we'd get on it."
It seemed like a sensible plan. Except, to carry it out, they would have to travel through the jungle, and, even worse, go along the river − exactly what Ithildin had tried to avoid. He wanted to object, but could not find the arguments. All he had was his vague, faint vision, and, one, especially, that Kintaro had asked him not to mention.
He looked helplessly at Kintaro, and the barbarian shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The deal was still on. Ithildin had to give up.
The elf made a vow to himself that he would be ever vigilant in the jungle, and would never let go of his sword. Giving in to a strange foreboding, he took out Alva's gift and tried to fix the sheathed blade to his back, as his lovers stared at him in surprise.
"I ought to let you know I was just joking about the demons," Alva snorted. "The likelihood of running into them around here is pretty much zero. As everywhere else."
Ithildin looked stubborn. "A weapon never goes useless."
"It's just decorative. It's not even sharp."
Unexpectedly, Kintaro came to the elf's aid. "Let him be. A noble blade does not belong with the rags. Even if it is silver and has no cutting edge." Then he helped Ithildin to fasten the scabbard so it would be easier to carry.
It seemed this journey was to be loaded with unpleasant surprises. The trek along the river proved a lot harder than they expected. They had to cut their way through the thicket, wade through mud and swat off biting insects that bred in the silt.
It was evident that Alva was already regretting his venture. When they picked a moderately dry spot and camped for the night, Ithildin thought that, come morning, Alva would be easily convinced to go back and wait for the Mithu back in Ichor. It might be dull there, but safe and comfortable.
At this thought, his eyelids suddenly became heavy. The elf blinked a couple of times and realized, unexpectedly, that the surroundings have grown a lot darker. The fire had almost died down, and occasional small flames rose in the embers and died down again. But only a few minutes ago the fire had been roaring. Did he really fall asleep? Can't be. But the somnolent weight of his eyelids proved otherwise.
Ithildin looked around. Lielle slept quietly, head in Ithildin's lap. The barbarian lay next to him, clutching his sword, and his chest rose and fell with each deep breath. All was quiet, save for the splash of running water in the distance. So why did he feel more and more worried?
One of the horses tied nearby snorted, as if surprised. Another whinnied, and the elf saw it lifting its head up in the air, sniffing. Suddenly both neighed, frightened and plaintive, and danced in place. Then the elf saw and felt what they did − the shadow forms gliding amid the trees.
His strange somnolence was instantly gone. He jumped up, getting Alva to rise as well.
"Wake up! We are being attacked!" Then, without further ado, he kicked Kintaro in the ribs.
Unusually, Kintaro did not leap up like a scalded cat, but only fidgeted sleepily, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. Alva went on sleeping standing up, and leaning against the elf.
"Wake up," Ithildin shouted, shaking Alva. "Lielle, Taro, damn it, it's magic, damn magic!"
Then he slapped Alva across the face with all his might.
Chevalier Ahayrre cried out, clutched at his cheek and finally looked at the elf with a glimmer of understanding.
"Start a fire," Ithildin shouted. He grabbed a wineskin and splashed wine in Kintaro's face. Kintaro snorted loudly and grabbed for the sword, but the elf was not longer paying attention to him. The horses shrilled and tore about. They reared, stomped and tried to break three of their tethers. Ithildin saw a black shadow leap at one horse. The other horse broke free of the tether and tore away in blind terror, oblivious to the tree branches that lashed against her head and flanks.
At this moment the fire came back to life and lightened up the clearing. A black panther raised its muzzle, red with blood, from the horse's carcass and leaped back outside the circle of light. It was so similar to what Ithildin had seen in his vision that he froze for a moment, paralyzed with terror.
Alva's voice brought him out of his stupor, "They are afraid of fire!"
Kintaro was already standing with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, his back to the fire. Alva and Ithildin drew their swords too.
"Shit always happens when you are partly naked. If we slept any longer we'd have been partly eaten too!" the incorrigible Kintaro jested.
"It's not a joke!" snarled Alva, clearly shaken. "There is a whole pack of those beasts! And they said large felines always hunt alone! I'll never trust the word of a huntsman again!"
"Come on. How many of them − two, three? Nothing to fret about."
Ithildin, though, wasn't so sure. His body was tense with fear and nervousness. Never before was the elf afraid of any wild beast; he had killed dozens of them during his lifetime. But those black ghosts filled him with superstitious fear. Ithildin couldn't even count them, so quickly they moved about. His gut told him they wouldn't be wary of the fire for much longer.
The fire ran through all the firewood gathered beforehand and started to die down. The fewer embers were there, the more panthers' eyes glowed in the dark surrounding the camp. Suddenly they all darted forward as if on command. And hell was unleashed.
The beasts attacked, silently appearing from nowhere and vanishing from sight almost immediately. Even wounded, they still didn't utter a sound − neither a snarl, nor a squeal. They were everywhere, and their numbers didn't seem to decrease, in spite of the fact that the three men swung their swords tirelessly, splashing blood all around.
Kintaro run one of the beasts cleanly through and ripped its guts open. The lifeless carcass landed heavily at his feet. Kintaro slipped up in the pool of blood and almost lost his grip on the sword hilt. Another panther leapt and knocked the barbarian off his feet, and Ithildin managed to cut its throat in the nick of time.
"Don't those creatures ever die or what?" the barbarian croaked and threw the carcass off him.
It suddenly came to life and drove its fangs into his leg. Kintaro cried out in pain and anger, swung his sword and cut off the beast's head. The head, still baring its fangs, rolled aside in a fountain of blood, the huge paws twitched and the carcass became lifeless once again. The other beasts fell back in the same coordinated manner as they attacked.
"What are they, demons?" Kintaro spit, clutching at his wounded leg. He drove his sword into the ground, took off his shoulder belt and used it as a tourniquet.
Behind his back the panther with ripped-out guts rose on all four legs.
With a shout Alva drove a dagger all the way through its eye socket. The panther shook its muzzle, hissed and in one huge leap vanished from sight. Chevalier Ahayrre, pale as a sheet, looked at Ithildin and Kintaro.
"God, have mercy on our souls!" he whispered with trembling lips. "What's going on here?"
The headless carcass twitched and tried to get up. Ithildin stabbed it under the right shoulder blade where its heart was − and it was still beating, he heard it! The carcass sunk down to the ground only to try and get up once again in a moment.
It was only now that Ithildin understood why all Ujjay weapons were made of silver.
He ripped the sword out of its scabbard and sliced through the beast's backbone in one swing.
It seemed that the blade needed no sharpening. It cut through the flesh of the dreadful creature as if through butter. The monster's skin seemed to part for it, charred and smoking.
The blood-curdling roar came out of the darkness. The four other panthers crept at them from all sides: their hair bristled up, the eyes gleamed evilly, the fangs dripped with saliva, the tails whipped their glossy black-furred flanks. One of the panthers still had a dagger in its eye socket.
"Good Lord! Shapeshifters! That's what they are!" Alva breathed.
The men stood back to back and brought out their swords. Alva began to pray quietly.
Four black streaks of lightning leapt at them.
Then everything became a mad bloodied swirl. Blood spilled, Kintaro growled whirling his sword like a windmill, Alva brandished a smoldering tree branch pulled out of the fire. The shapeshifters howled taking a hit from Ithildin's silver sword, and their hides smoked. An ordinary blade just made them falter and back off for a bit, and they attacked again.
Kintaro managed to cut off another beast's head. Its comrade pounced on him and brought him down, and they rolled on the ground like a snarling black ball of rage. Kintaro skewered the panther with his sword and threw it aside. It crouched down and launched itself at him again, aiming for the throat, shredding his chest with its claws. Alva shouted like a madman and came to the rescue. He grabbed the beast by the neck and stabbed it with his sword over and over again. The beast let go of his pray and retreated.
Kintaro, covered with blood all over, rose to his knees. His ravaged right arm hung useless, he picked the sword left-handed. The barbarian licked his lips and said, "Fall back to the river."
His torso was badly slashed, and the slashes oozed blood.
Ithildin propped Kintaro with his shoulder and dragged him to his feet.
"Alva, you have a protective charm. They won't harm you. Run!" he barked. The eyes of an elf could see the faint glow of Alva's silver pendant which scared the shapeshifters away. The armourer who gave him that gift saved his life.
"Like hell!" the Chevalier snapped out and propped Kintaro from the other side.
The shapeshifters tried to cut them off from the river and retreated, frightened by Itihildin's silver sword and Alva's gleaming pendant. On the riverbank the beasts realized their pray was about to get away, and mounted a final attack.
Ithildin managed to push Alva into the water, near a small floating island that had run aground. Almost the very same moment he landed heavily on his back and came face to face with a beast, its fangs bared. The elf stabbed the beast under its chin, into the brain, wriggled out from under the fallen enemy... The sight he saw was terrible. Kintaro, on his back, and two panthers tore at his body. Without a moment's thought Ithildin rushed into battle, chasing the beasts away with his gleaming silver sword.
Kintaro's face, covered in blood, looked inhuman. His lips moved, and Ithildin rather guessed that heard his words. "Go."
The elf's vision was coming true. The riverbank was the same, only the moon wasn't full. He and Alva still could escape. And Kintaro would be lying here dead, a black beast tearing at his guts.
"No," the elf said, shielding the barbarian with his body.
A beast seized him by the shoulder and toppled him over. Writhing in overwhelming pain, Ithildin managed to run it through.
The last shapeshifter crept closer, growling.
"Farewell, Lielle!" Ithildin uttered and stood before the monster.
The monster pounced.
The thicket at the riverbank caught fire. The night came ablaze. Alva snatched a burning branch out of the fire and stuck it into the shapeshifter's muzzle. The beast squealed and ran away, shaking its burned head.
Alva staggered, Ithildin barely managed to catch him from falling. His beloved Lielle was in deep shock, his shirt smoking, his hair scorched. The resiniferous Jinnjarati wood exploded into flames right in his hands.
They won the day (or rather the night), but the victory looked almost like an utter defeat. Kintaro was lying motionless at Ithildin's feet, covered with blood. Only the elf's sharp senses could tell he was still breathing. Lielle hung in his arms unconscious. Ithildin himself felt light-headed and dizzy from blood loss. If the last shapeshifter returned, they would be easy prey.
Using all his remaining strength Ithildin carried Alva to the floating island and lay him down as comfortably as he could. Then he dragged Kintaro there, tore his own shirt into strips and hastily bandaged the barbarian's wounds. His own bitten shoulder hurt terribly, but the blood had already stopped, and he was in no danger of bleeding to death.
Ithildin pushed the island away from the bank and lie down on its edge, halfway in water, still clutching his silver sword.
Alva's face was pale as death, but the right side of it turned red from the burn. Kintaro's bandages soaked through with blood, it left traces of red in the water.
They can both die, and I will have to go on living without them, the elf thought, and his eyes filled with tears.
Many hours later they were fished out of the water at the time-blackened docks in Ichor. Kintaro and Alva were laid down on stretchers, and the old emaciated man helped Ithildin stand on his feet. Then and only then Ithildin let himself burst into tears, hiding his face on the bony shoulder of the Ujjay oracle.
Even when he lost consciousness, he didn't let go of the sword. The oracle had to pry open his fingers.