Nor could Guin have asked the Sem for more than four days in which to complete his mission. The wildlings were faced with a threat to their very existence, and he doubted that they could hold out even that long against an army of foes twice their number and twice their size as well. For all he knew, he might already be too late. The Mongauli force might have made its move that very morning. If they found the Sem and made a full-on assault… Then even if Guin did find the Lagon and convince them to come, all his effort would be wasted, too little, too late, a scant smattering of rain drops on the parched desert.
Two more days…
Guin did his best not to let his worry dangerously hasten his careful pace, but his fists clenched with suppressed tension as he thought of the impossibility of his task. The Wolf King looked up inquisitively. The sun was setting.
Carefully now the warrior and the wolf hurried onward. Darkness began to fall, long shadows stretching and joining around them; yet, by the time true night had arrived the two travelers had passed the dangerously steep crags and were walking along a gently sloping path that ran along the top of a cliff on the skirt of the mountain.
The wolf stopped, as if to suggest that they rest for the night where they were, but Guin was unwilling to pause now that he was over the obstacle of the mountain. At the same time, though the grade was gentler here, the ground was still loose and crumbling, and the cliff on their right hand dropped into a deep ravine. Where the path narrowed, a misstep on the shoulder would send rocks tumbling down into the dark abyss. The darker the path got, the more dangerous it would become.
The Wolf King, choosing his footing with utmost care, looked back at Guin, wordlessly requesting him to stop. Guin, however, was engrossed in his own progress, stabilizing himself with a firm grip on the boulders they passed, keeping a sharp eye out for stone-mimics and vampire moss as he made his way along the sloping cliff-edge. Seeing his companion’s determination, the Wolf King faced forward again and continued down, his pace quickening.
Both Guin and the wolf had an advantage over the common traveler in that their eyes could see fairly well in the darkness. But then, they were walking on paths where no common traveler would ever think of venturing. I would like to see Rinda and Remus brave this trail, Guin thought, amusement flashing briefly through his mind. Or even the intrepid Istavan—
Abruptly he stopped, the hair on the back of his neck rising.
“What’s that?” he barked.
The Wolf King did not slow his pace.
There was something ahead of them, something pure white, glimmering in the darkness.
Snow?
Guin squinted to see through the gloom.
Yidoh? Or something worse?
A short distance further on, the path dropped sharply. Beyond the drop he could dimly see faint white shapes that seemed to float in the void. His eyes could detect no movement, but he suspected that something lay ahead which he had not encountered before, so different was this pale gleaming from the monotonous gray of the mountainside that had filled his eyes for the past day and night.
Guin hesitated, his pace faltering. Then he shouted with alarm as the Wolf King sped up and launched himself through the air towards the strange cluster of white objects.
’Wait!”
The leopard warrior knew all too well that there were creatures in Nospherus that were neither plant, nor animal, nor mineral, unnatural entities that used nefarious means to lure in their prey, employing attractive scents or even psychic temptation. It was unwise to leap into the unknown no matter how safe it might look.
But the Wolf King moved like lightning, hopping down over the rocks; in an instant he was among the shapeless white things, stopping right on top of the closest one. To Guin’s amazement, he crouched and began to lick his peculiar perch.
Guin’s eyes flashed. Cautiously, but as quickly as he could manage, he moved down the last stretch of path along the cliff until he, too, was surrounded by the white lumps. He could now see that they were rocks of some sort, ranging from quite small to boulder-sized, lying scattered among the darker stones below the cliff. The area was covered with white dust that appeared to have fallen off the white rocks, making the ground look like a late autumn field after a snow flurry.
Guin stopped, watching the Wolf King in astonishment. The wise elder of Dog’s Head Mountain had gone mad. Like a cat bewitched by catnip, he twisted his face in ecstasy as he rubbed against the pale rocks, and rolled on the ground, stopping from time to time to lick their surfaces again. The rocks were as white as the wolf’s own fur, and they seemed fragile enough for his teeth to leave marks in them, dusting the ground with more pallid powder.
Guin gritted his teeth in dubious anticipation and reached out to touch one of the rocks. Nothing happened. He broke off a chunk and it crumbled easily in his hand; soon his palm was covered with the stuff. He glanced at the Wolf King. On closer inspection, the wolf appeared less crazed than he had seemed before. Rather, he was apparently merely enjoying himself tremendously. After a moment’s hesitation, Guin brought his palm closer to his face, and sticking out his tongue, he lightly licked the powder.
“Ah ha!”
It was tangy, or rather salty—pleasantly so—a welcome treat for the mouth after a long day spent sweating under the dry desert sun.
“Rock salt,” Guin muttered, astounded. He quickly moved to one of the largest rocks and broke off a chunk, testing it. It was as salty as the first. He looked around. As far as he could tell in the dark, the small valley they had entered was filled with white lumps of salt—more than he had ever seen in his life.