Phthor by Piers Anthony Read Free Book Online

never left her burning-wall premises, heated by a boiling stream. Not for more than a moment, certainly.
    “A girl,” he cried. “Attacked. By a monster. Dying—”
    Coquina wasted no time with questions. “Aton’s questing in the upwind forest. Find him there. Take Sleipnir.”
    “I can’t ride Sleipnir!” Arlo protested.
    “Hang onto his tail; follow him. He can find Aton immediately and carry you both back.”
    She was right: this was the fastest way. “Thanks, Mother!” She hadn’t even shown surprise over Ex!
    He left the oven-cave and ran to the pasture. This was a closed minor network of passages reserved for the animal, barricaded not against his escape but against the intrusion of dangerous predators. He located Sleipnir by the sounds of the animal’s grazing: a steady chip-chip-chip. Sleipnir was another glow-feeder, his great front teeth chipping off flakes of rock to chew for their coating of lichen. It was a tedious chore, requiring much time and effort—but the creature had time, and strength, and imagination for little else. In fact, Aton had to pasture him in a suitable section each time, or the chipper would work over recently deglowed stone, and starve.
    Sleipnir had a bulbous, long-snouted head, a segmented body, and eight powerful legs. He was low and long, able to run through fairly tight tunnels without pause. That was what made him such a good steed—for Aton. Sleipnir had little wit, but he knew his master and tolerated no one else upon him though he was strong enough” to carry several people at once.
    “Come, stupid,” Arlo said.
    The animal ignored him.
    “Sleipnir!” Arlo cried loudly. Now he perked up, hearing his name—but when he saw that it was only Arlo, he returned to his repast. CHIP! CHIP!
    Arlo grabbed hold of the creature’s spikelike tail. “Find Aton!” he bawled, making his voice sound as much like his father’s as he could. “Aton! ATON!”   That registered. Sleipnir looked about, searching for his master. When he did not see him, he sniffed the floor.
    “Aton! Upwind forest!” Arlo cried, jerking on the tail. With Ex dying, he had to struggle with this moronic beast!
    Sleipnir could not understand the words, but now the need to find his master had been invoked, and he began to move. His brain was minimal, but his nose was sophisticated. In a moment, he had located the freshest spoor. He pursued it.
    Was there really such a difference between man and animal, Arlo wondered. Norns, salamander, and Doc Bedside had evoked particular responses in Arlo, just as Arlo had evoked this response in the pseudo-horse. Intelligence was not of itself sufficient to circumvent such responses, or he would have been able to save Ex by ignoring the distractions placed in his way.
    When Sleipnir ran, he ran. Arlo hung to the tail with both hands and sprinted, but the steed was too swift for him. Soon he was reduced to bouncing: putting down both feet together in a kind of sliding hop, to support himself while the creature’s headlong pace carried him along. This was rough exercise—but it was getting him where he wanted to go!
    The passing caves became a blur. Some were dark, some light; some small, some huge. Some were straight, with the wind rushing through; some curved and recurved intricately. An outsider would have been amazed at the variety of shape and color; Arlo took it all for granted.
    At last they reached the upwind forest. Here the stalactites extended down from the ceiling to connect with the stalagmites below, forming columns. But many were not vertical; the force and eddies of the wind had taken the dripping fluids slantwise, and the rock formations had followed. At times over the centuries, natural forces had shifted the wind, causing the structures to change direction, and the growing presence of upwind columns had interrupted the airstream and affected the downwind columns. Slow accretion had been replaced by wind erosion. As a result, the stalactites had