looming in front of him.
“They seem to be traveling back and forth from the north to the west,” Ortis said. “The latest group went west. We’ll need to watch for them.”
“We’re only a few days from the temple. Do you think they live there?”
Hobart frowned. “We’ll find out. We’ve come too far not to.”
“It could only be a small portion of their number,” Ortis said. “There is considerable traffic, here.”
“If we ride hard, we can catch up to them before they get to the temple,” Hobart suggested. “It would be easier to fight them out in the open.”
“Assuming we have to fight,” Ortis said. “They may not be hostile.”
“How many people come out of The Tween?” Hobart countered. “We need to be prepared. Keep an eye open for a defensible position, in case we need to retreat.”
“Explain something to me,” Angus said. “We’ve crossed over other trails like this in the past few days. Some of them have been even more recent with the creatures heading north at a rapid rate. Others were older trails, heading south at a much slower pace. They were all small groups, perhaps four or five, right? Now, here we have a larger group who are ahead of us. Does anyone else feel like we’re getting squeezed into a trap?”
“Now you’re starting to think like a soldier,” Hobart said. “It could be a trap, but I don’t think so. There hasn’t been enough time for them to spread word about us. Still, they should know we are traveling down this road, and that would tell them where we are likely going. But Ortis said these tracks are a couple of days old, and we didn’t see the first signs until about three days ago. They would have to have seen us before that to plan an ambush.”
“It could be the way they hunt,” Angus suggested.
“Then why not kill the deer?” Ortis countered. “I’ve scouted every deer trail we’ve seen, and there’s no indication of them killing any. There are other places they could easily kill them, but they haven’t. Instead, they grow mushrooms.”
Angus nodded. “I just can’t shake the feeling that they’re organizing an attack, and we’re about to ride into it.”
“Not if we don’t get going,” Hobart said. “The sooner we catch up with them, the sooner we find out what we’re up against. We shouldn’t have too much trouble with twenty of them, especially if you have that spell you threw at Giorge back at the construction site.”
“And the wand,” Ortis added. “It would wreak havoc on an army.”
Angus sighed. They still didn’t understand the difficulties involved in casting spells, or how vulnerable he was when he did it. But they were right; the Firecluster spell would wreak havoc on them if they were close to each other—if he could finish casting it in time. It was a complex series of knots, and weaving them together took concentration and time. Then there was the last knot, the one he wasn’t sure he had primed correctly. If he hadn’t, what would it do? More damage? Less?
“Try to keep up,” Hobart said, spurring his horse to a light run on the nearly clear, well-traveled road. The others fell in behind him, with Angus near the rear taking a long look behind them before he urged Gretchen forward.
7
They rode fairly hard for a day and a half before Ortis said the creatures were only an hour ahead of them.
“They aren’t acting like an ambush party,” Ortis said. “Their pace is even, and there’s very little evidence of urgency. I don’t think they know we’re here. If they were concerned, we wouldn’t have found their campsite last night.”
“At least we know they eat meat,” Hobart said. “Those bones were snapped in half and the marrow was sucked out of them.”
“Some of them do, anyway,” Ortis said. “There weren’t enough bones for a party that size.”
“And they’re small,” Giorge said. “I’m easily a foot taller than they are, and I don’t have a tail.”
“The more I see of their signs,” Ortis said. “The more cat-like they become. If I didn’t know they were walking on their hind feet, I’d think that’s all they were. Mountain cats.”
“Cat’s are fast,” Angus said. “We should be careful.”
“It’s the other thing that concerns me,” Hobart said. “It’s twice their height and is about as far from being a cat as something can get.”
“They had a tail,” Giorge said, grinning.
Hobart frowned and shook his head. “You know what I mean,” he said. “They wear armor and have weapons. The cat-things didn’t.”
“Cats fight with their claws and teeth,” Ortis reminded him.
“Watch out for that,” Hobart said. “They’ll be sharp.”
“Should we wait until nightfall and try to sneak by them?” Angus asked.
“No,” Ortis said. “They will have the advantage at night. We should go now.”
“Slowly,” Hobart said. “They’re on foot, and we’re riding. If those tracks are an hour or so old, then we’ll catch up with them in about two hours at a light trot.”
“What do we do then?” Angus asked.
“Ortis will shoot arrows,” Hobart answered. “He’ll target the larger ones; if they’re the leaders, it may demoralize the others when they fall. I’ll charge; their claws will be almost useless against my armor, and Leslie is a formidable opponent in her own right. Giorge will hang back with you to give you time to cast your spells. If it looks like it’s going badly, we’ll retreat to a defensible position and hold our ground.”
“We may not need to fight,” Angus said. “What then?”
Hobart shrugged. “I’ll negotiate. I’ve done it quite a few times already. But we’re not likely to have any languages in common, so don’t expect it.”
“I speak dwarf,” Angus said. “Some of them must, also, if they’re trading with dwarves for weapons.”
Ortis looked closely at Angus and asked, “You speak dwarf? Are there any other languages you know?”
Angus shrugged. “Eight or nine,” he said. “Voltari was thorough.”
“Which ones?” Ortis asked.
“That changes things, then,” Hobart said. “If we can talk, we may not have to fight.”
“Let’s talk while we ride?” Giorge said. “They’re getting further ahead of us while we dally here.”
“I don’t mind,” Hobart said. “If we give them a little longer, they’ll have their campsite set up by the time we get there. It will be easier to deal with them while they’re occupied in a concentrated location. Even better if most of them are sleeping.”
“In addition to dwarf,” Angus began, “I speak….”
8
“What did you find out?” Hobart whispered as Giorge returned from scouting ahead and removed the hood of his cloak.
“There are eighteen of the smaller ones,” Giorge said. “They’re about this tall—” he held his hand up to the middle of his chest “—and look sort of like mountain cats, only their fur is dark orange and they walk on their hind legs. They talk to each other, too, but I couldn’t understand their language—if all that snarling, hissing, and spitting is a language at all.”
“Does that sound like any language you know?” Ortis asked Angus.
“No,” he said. “But I’d have to hear it to make sure.”
“The larger ones are about your height, Hobart, but thinner,” Giorge continued. “There are three of them, and they’re clearly in control of the smaller ones. I’ve never seen anything like them before. They have long bodies and short legs, their arms are thin and end in three fingered hands, and their heads are flat with one eye on each side. They have huge mouths with lots of teeth. Their skin—”
“—is dark green, bumpy, and moist. They have a ridge of scales down their backs, and their feet are wide and flat,” Hobart finished. “I suppose they’re carrying axes.”
“Yes,” Giorge said. “Like the ones we found in that weapons cache. How did you know?”
“What kind of armor?” he asked, his voice fierce, low, and determined.
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“I’m not sure what it’s made of,” Giorge said, “but it covers them from the knees—if that’s what you want to call them—to their armpits. It looks a lot like that washboard Agata uses to clean the sheets, but the ridges are smaller.”
“It’s made from layers of dried reeds,” Hobart said. “It’s tough, and if you stab through it, your blades will catch. Slash at their arms, legs, and heads; they’re vulnerable there. Ortis, arrows don’t penetrate their armor very well; aim for their heads.”
“I know,” Ortis said. “I’ve fought fishmen before.”
“Fishmen?” Angus asked. “I thought they were only in the Death Swamps.”
“So did I,” Hobart grimly said. “But we’re wrong. They must be the ones responsible for the fires by the river. They seldom stray far from water, even when they attack.”
“I should have recognized the prints,” Ortis said. “I didn’t even consider it might be them.”
“What about the other things?” Angus asked. “Do you know what they are?”
“No,” Hobart said. “The Fishmen in the north have no allies that we know about.”
“I have never run across any such creatures,” Ortis added. “They may be native to The Tween. Giorge?”
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m a city boy.”
“What did their eyes look like?” Angus asked.
“I don’t know,” Giorge said. “I didn’t get that close. Cats have good ears and a strong sense of smell, so I thought these would too. I kept my distance.”
“What do we do, then?” Angus asked.
“Fishmen are the sworn enemy of Tyr,” Hobart said.