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60 THE RIVER OF DANCING GODS
"It was decided that your best potential would be realized by Huspeth in the
Glen Dinig," Poquah replied, explaining nothing. "As you know, we were
expecting only the man.
Huspeth, however, is willing, and is better equipped than we.
Can you ride a horse?"
"Yes, I've ridden horses. At least I can manage. Why? Is this Glen Whatsis
far?"
"Not far," he said. "But too far to walk. Come with me.
We should make haste to get you there before dark." With that he turned and
walked out of the room and down the hall. She
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ods%201%20-%20The%20River%20of%20the%20Danc.txt followed, hurrying to catch
up.
They went back down, across the drawbridge, and through the outer ring. Just
at the start of the road, two beautiful horses, one coal black and the other
snow white, waited, being held by an elf groom.
She approached the horses excitedly. "How perfect they are! But no saddles,
huh?" It was true. The horses were fitted only with bridles and a smooth
blanket tied about their mid-
sections.
"Saddles are a luxury. It is best you leam horsemanship without them. Then a
saddle will be a convenience, not a necessity."
She looked dubious. "Well, okay, but I hope I can hold on."
With the Imir's aid, she boosted herself up on the white horse, grabbed the
reins, and tried to get as comfortable as she could. It felt a little strange
being up, and she felt some muscles being stretched in unaccustomed places.
The Imir mounted the black horse effortlessly and looked over at her. "Shall
we ride?"
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She nodded. "Take it easy, though, at thestart, will you?
I'm a little wobbly."
"Slow and easy," Poquah assured her. Giving his mount a light nudge with his
foot, he started off. Her horse, apparently very well trained, followed the
black one at a slow, comfortable pace.
Riding down the slope from the castle was fairly easy, although they were
following no trail. Still, Marge's horse swayed and twisted with the land, and
it took her several min-
utes and a few near spills to get anything approaching steadiness without
saddle or stirrups.
61
JACK L. CHALKER
"Who is this Huspeth?" she called to Poquah when they closed ranks.
"She is a witch who lives in the Glen Dinig," the Imir told her. "She is very
old and very wise and very powerful. She is a great one, but she never leaves
her forest glades these days."
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"Is she a friend of Ruddygore's?"
"Hardly. Huspeth has little use for people in general and for sorcerers in
particular. She is greatly feared by many, liked by none."
"Thanks a lot," Marge said sourly. "And I'm being handed over to her? Is it
safe?"
"Nothing in life is safe," the Imir responded philosophically.
"However, she has her own reasons for wanting this task, which was asked of
her but could not be forced upon her. She will do it, not because of the
Master, nor for any cause, although bur enemy is also her enemy, but because
she chooses to do it. We did not expect her to accept, but we chanced to ask."
They went on as the sun sank lower in the fields; with this description of her
prospective tutor. Marge's high spirits sank a bit lower, as well.
After more than an hour's ride, out of sight of the castle but just barely,
they came over a rise and Poquah stopped.
Below, the plain gave way to thick forest, a distinct grove perhaps two miles
square between the rolling hills and the River of Dancing Gods.
The Imir pointed. "The Glen Dinig," he told her. "Please dismount." With that
he jumped from his horse with a cat's balance and turned to her. She found it
difficult to move her numbing legs, which throbbed with pain from the unaccus-
tomed ride, but she managed with his help to get one leg over the other and
sort of slide down to the ground. Relief shot through her legs, although she
staggered a bit from the painful stiffness.
"Wow! I thought I was a better horsewoman than this!"
"Your old body's muscles were so conditioned, probably,"
he said, "but everything is new to you now. This body is drawn from the
energies that are around us and those which made up your old self; it is a new
body and it will need conditioning."
She whistled low and nodded, trying to shake the kinks out of her legs. "Yeah.
I keep forgetting that." She looked down at the thick forest. "What now?"
62
JACK L. CHALKER
THE RIVER OF DANCING GODS
63
"Huspeth never emerges from the Glen Dinig, and I can not enter it. My
instructions were to bring you to this point, then direct you to walk down and
into the wood. I will return to
Terindell."
Again she looked uncertainly down at the forest, which was fast becoming a
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place of great shadow as the sun sank almost
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ods%201%20-%20The%20River%20of%20the%20Danc.txt to the horizon. "You're going
to leave me to walk into those woods at dusk alone?"
The Imir did not reply. Demonstrating his little trick once more, he was gone,
taking the horses. She looked around but could see no sign of him or the
mounts, nor hear anything except a slight whistling of a warm wind. She was
alone.
She sighed and shook her head. "Well, on your own again, with not even a
highway to bail you out." She considered walking back to the castle, but it
was a fair distance several miles, anyway and most of it would be in the dark.
She sighed again. "Well, I've trusted old Ruddygore this far. May as well keep
doing it now." With this she walked down the hill toward the woods.
It was much cooler in the Glen Dinig, and there was the smell of the damp,
with moss and rotting limbs giving it an even eerier look in the gathering
gloom. Insects and occasional squirrellike creatures scampered here and there,
startling her.
Having no other instructions, she just continued walking, the forest getting
thicker and darker as she went. She began to grow nervous, fearing that she
might be trapped alone in total dark for the night, and she started having
second thoughts about going blindly through the place. She turned to make her
way back, but soon realized that back looked the same as forward now. She had
no idea how far she had come, nor exactly from which direction. That being the
case, and considering the small size of the forest, she finally decided that
the best thing to do was to press on in one straight line. Eventually she'd
have to reach the edge of the forest or, at worst, the river.
In a few minutes, when things had just turned to a danger-
ous, nearly pitch-blackness, she came upon a small clearing;
in the middle of the clearing was an earthen hut. It was a very primitive
affair, looking much like a wood and straw igloo, but there was a fire burning
in a pit in front of the little hut
and some sort of cauldron sat on an improvised stand above the fire, smoke
rising from it.
Relieved to see any sign of life, she hurried forward.
"Hold, girl!" came a voice, high-pitched and raspy, so grat-
ing that it almost sent chills up her spine. She stopped, turned, and looked
for the first time on Huspeth.
The woman was not merely old, she was ancient, mostly stretched and wrinkled
skin over a bare skeleton. The face was scarcely human, with a long, pointed
jaw and a tremendous beaklike nose, and her eyes were like two huge, perfectly
round cat's eyes set in a yellow sea that literally glowed. She was
medium-sized, but bent over and leaning on a crooked stick.
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