Song of the Saurials

10 The Hunt

Alias watched with relief as Breck Orcsbane urged his horse down the left-hand fork of the trail they followed in order to scout ahead. The ranger was in a foul mood, and a respite from his company was more than welcome. He scowled constantly at the ground and hardly spoke to her at all, except to complain about Dragonbait. Alias could understand how Breck felt, but silent, uncritical sympathy did not come easily to her. They’d been on the road for three hours now, and at first the ranger’s prediction that it would be easy to track Grypht had proven true. They’d begun their search atop Oakwood Knoll and had no trouble finding the creature’s path leading down from the knoll. Grypht was large and heavy; his feet sank deep into the wet soil, and his great tail knocked down large swaths of vegetation like a scythe.

Grypht, however, was not a beast, but a creature with intelligence and cunning. He knew enough to travel paths that were rocky whenever possible, where he would leave no prints, or to cut through areas heavily strewn with fallen leaves, where he could use his tail to brush the leaves around to cover his passage. Following Grypht proved to be a challenge to the Harper ranger, despite his keen eye and years of tracking experience. He had put himself under so much pressure to avenge Kyre that Alias didn’t like to think what would happen if they lost Grypht’s trail.

The ranger would have been happier, Alias realized, tracking alone. Then he could grieve for the half-elf in private. They couldn’t risk having him find Akabar and Grypht without the presence of others, though. In the state Breck was in, he’d end up attacking Grypht or Akabar or both and end up dead himself. Since Mourngrym had forced Breck to travel with two relative strangers, the ranger repressed his grief behind a wall of hostility.

As for Breck’s complaints about Dragonbait, though, Alias was on the verge of agreeing with the ranger’s desire to leave the saurial behind. She’d begun the hunt arguing with Breck in Dragonbait’s defense. The ranger didn’t want to travel with Dragonbait unless he was mounted, as they were. Breck kept insisting that the creature would slow them down, but Alias had explained that Dragonbait could keep up with a trotting horse for hours. Since then, the saurial paladin had proceeded to make a liar out of her so often that even she was growing annoyed with him. He fell behind again and again for no apparent reason, as if he had no interest in their hunt. Once when the swordswoman had turned around to urge him to keep up, Alias had found him gathering nuts. Several times he seemed to know the path Grypht was taking but would not reveal it until Breck had discovered it for himself.

Alias had first noticed the saurial sniffing the air when they were on Oakwood Knoll. When the party had reached the first stony path, he’d sniffed the air again. Once Breck had disappeared down the path to check the trail to the north, the saurial had taken a few steps down the path to the south and sat down with a sigh. He did the same thing at a second fork, and again at a creek bed. He’d waited a quarter of an hour while Breck rode around searching for the trail beneath a thick carpet of leaves, until it seemed as if the ranger might explode. Then the paladin had casually plodded through the leaves in a direction which Breck, following behind, later found to be correct.

Finally guessing that the saurial’s sense of smell might be as sharp as any hunting hound’s, Breck had asked Alias to ask Dragonbait to lead the way, but at the next choice of intersections, Dragonbait scratched his head and acted confused. Breck, completely frustrated with the paladin, had resumed the lead.

Alias, familiar with her companion’s phony “dumb animal” routine, had glared at the saurial and whispered, “What is wrong with you? Why won’t you help him?”

The ranger is beyond my help, Dragonbait had signed.

Alias had ridden off after the ranger in a huff. She didn’t know what had gotten into the paladin, but she knew they couldn’t afford to alienate Breck completely. Aside from worrying about keeping the ranger from starting a battle with Akabar and Grypht, in the back of Alias’s mind was the realization that if they ever did locate Nameless, Breck was one of the bard’s judges.

Now, as Breck disappeared down the fork in the road, Alias dismounted to stretch her legs. Dragonbait was nowhere to be seen. The swordswoman walked back down the path to see what he was up to. She spotted him tying a strip of blue cloth to a tree branch just above his head. She crept up behind him until she was a mere three feet away.

“What are you doing?” she asked suddenly.

Dragonbait jumped and whirled around, obviously startled.

“You’re marking the trail,” she exclaimed in surprise. “Why?”

Mourngrym might come, Dragonbait signed.

“Mourngrym is not coming,” Alias retorted. She reached up to yank the strip of cloth from the tree and nearly lost her balance when she tripped on a heap of walnuts piled on the trail just below the branch.

“Why are you leaving nuts out on the trail?” she demanded.

An offering to Tymora, the saurial signed.

“Nuts?” Alias cried. “Since when does Lady Luck demand offerings of nuts? Dragonbait, what has gotten into you? Why are you slowing us down?”

Breck’s too angry, Dragonbait signed as he had at the tower. He’s not getting any calmer.

“But you’re only making him angrier. And you still haven’t told me why you’re marking the trail,” Alias said. “What are the nuts for, anyway?”

Dragonbait pointed down the trail. Breck had returned. The saurial loped up to the ranger’s horse.

Alias growled to herself. Dragonbait was keeping something from her, she was certain of it. She followed her companion back down the trail. “Did you find anything?” she asked Breck as she mounted her horse.

Breck nodded wordlessly and led the way back down the fork of the trail he’d just examined.

Dragonbait slapped at Alias’s horse so it trotted down the trail ahead of him. It took the swordswoman a moment to slow her mount and turn to be sure the paladin was following. Dragonbait trotted past her. Alias turned her horse again and followed him. She’d spotted another strip of cloth hanging from a branch to mark the fork they now rode on. It wouldn’t do to confront the saurial in front of Breck, but eventually she’d find out what he was up to if she had to shake it out of the paladin.

Akabar watched with fascination as Grypht studied the teleport spell carved into his staff. The carvings didn’t look the least bit like any writing Akabar had ever seen. They appeared to be nothing but notches and lines carved at irregular intervals. The Turmish scholar longed to pester the saurial wizard into translating for him, but Grypht’s tongues spell had worn off. Besides, they had both agreed that the most important thing was for them to return as soon as possible to Shadowdale, so Akabar remained silent.

In the back of the Turmishman’s mind, he was anxious about Zhara. He had a blurry memory of Kyre speaking some spell that included his wife’s name. Dragonbait had promised to look after her, though, which assuaged the southern mage’s fears considerably. Still, he’d be glad to get back to Zhara.

He’d also be relieved to get out of the forest wilderness all around them. The slender oak saplings that surrounded them were lovely, but there were three especially large maples off to one side whose appearance the mage found disturbing. By their size, Akabar judged them to be hundreds of years old, but he didn’t expect they could live much longer. Their trunks were riddled with insect bore holes. Sucker vines covered many of their branches. While some of their leaves were an autumnal gold, most were brown and dry far too early in the season. He hadn’t noticed the trees when he first regained consciousness, but now he couldn’t get them out of his mind, even when he turned his eyes away from them. As the sun sank lower in the sky and the shadows lengthened and deepened, the sickly trees and even the young oak saplings seemed to close in on the forest clearing where they sat.

Akabar started and gave a shout. The trees were closing in on them. The oak saplings surrounded them in a neat ring, twenty feet across, standing so close together that their trunks resembled the bars of a prison. There was no space wide enough to pass between them; the two mages were trapped inside the circle of saplings with the three great maple trees. At Akabar’s shout, Grypht looked up from his staff with a look of annoyance that his study had been interrupted. The moment the saurial spotted the maples, he leaped to his feet and roared.

Just then Akabar noticed the features of a face on one of the older maples. He also noticed that the tree’s trunk split into two great, bark-covered legs. The maples weren’t trees at all, Akabar realized. They were treants, good creatures who protected the forest. All three treants closed in on Grypht. The saurial wizard growled threateningly and held out his hand to cast a spell.

“Wait!” Akabar warned, stepping between the saurial and the treant he was pointing at. “These trees are treants,” the Turmishman said. “They won’t harm us.”

Grypht growled again, shoving Akabar aside. Akabar remembered then that the saurial could no longer understand him. Somehow he had to figure out a way to keep the wizard from injuring the treants. The smell of fresh-mown hay began to fill the meadow as Grypht began sprinkling a tiny white ball with yellow powder.

“No!” Akabar shouted. He rushed toward the saurial wizard and yanked at the sleeve of his robe, jerking his arm to one side, so that the fireball Grypht had summoned exploded off to one side of the treants instead of in their midst. Immediately several of the oak saplings surrounding them crackled into flame.

Suddenly Akabar felt himself being lifted off the ground by the sash around his robe. Akabar strained around and looked up. A huge treant held him in one of its woody hands and glared down at him.

“Please,” Akabar said in common, “don’t harm the saurial. He’s a visitor from another world. He doesn’t understand about treants.”

The treant cackled wickedly and pointed at Grypht with its free leafy hand. “Kill him!” it ordered the other two treants in a booming voice.

“No!” Akabar shouted, struggling fiercely and beating ineffectively at the wooden hand holding him nearly ten feet off the ground.

Unable to cast a spell before the treants were upon him, Grypht grabbed the arm of the nearest one and swung his feet from the ground like a child swinging from a tree branch. Unable to bear the weight of the giant lizard, the treant’s arm broke away from its body with the dull sound of a rotting log when it crumbles beneath a woodsman’s axe. Dust rose from the decayed wooden arm as it crashed to the ground.

The injured treant’s face formed a scowl, but it gave no indication that it felt any pain.

Akabar’s eyes widened in horror. From the hollow depression where the treant’s arm had broken away from the trunk, a slimy green tendril shot out and whipped about Grypht’s throat. Akabar realized he’d made a terrible mistake. These creatures might once have been treants, but like Kyre, they’d been infested somehow with a rotting parasite that made them servants of the Darkbringer.

The tendril wrapped about Grypht’s throat began to constrict, choking the saurial and pulling him closer to the treant’s other arm. With both hands, Gryphyt grabbed a section of the tendril between his throat and the treant and gave a sharp, powerful tug. The tendril snapped in two like a piece of rotten twine, but before Grypht could move away to try another spell, a second treant came up behind him and smashed one of its arms down heavily on the saurial’s head.

Grypht fell to the ground, stunned, and both treants began kicking at him with their massive wooden legs.

The treant that held Akabar remained motionless. Akabar slid his dagger out of his sleeve and slashed through the sash at his waist. He fell to the ground, landing on his knees, sending needles of pain lancing through them. Quickly he rolled away from the treant, and gritting his teeth against the pain, he staggered to his feet.

Pulling out a piece of red phosphorus from a pocket of his robe, Akabar began to chant in Turmish. The moment before the phosphorus ignited, the mage tossed it into the air and imagined a circle.

A curtain of flame surged up around the treant, trapping it. The wounded treant attacking Grypht was caught in the perimeter of the blazing wall. The creature bellowed, and its dead leaves ignited with a great whoosh, though the bark of its skin smoldered and would not burn.

The remaining treant backed away from the fire, and Grypht seized the opportunity to roll away from the monster’s feet toward Akabar. The southern mage spat out another spell and rushed forward to distract the treant so the saurial could escape. Instantly six images of Akabar, magical illusions, rushed forward beside him.

The treant wavered with confusion. It reached out to grab the mage, but its wooden hand closed on empty air, and the image before it blinked out of existence. The treant turned to grab another image.

Behind him, Akabar could smell the scent of Grypht’s spell-casting. Two flaming bolts shot between Akabar and his images. The fiery magical weaponry pierced the hide of the treant, setting its leaves alight, but its bark burnt little better than that of its companion.

Grypht picked up the Turmish mage by the waist, slung him over his shoulder, and made a run for the wall of saplings that surrounded them. The small trees were no match for nearly a quarter ton of angry saurial. The scaly wizard crashed through the oak saplings as if they were stalks of grass. It was several minutes before he stopped running and set Akabar down on the ground. By the light of the saurial’s staff, Akabar could see that the creature was badly injured. His breathing was labored, there was a gash in his armor frill, and his scaly face was lacerated and bruised.

Grypht handed Akabar his staff, and from the sleeves of his robe, he pulled out a strip of parchment, some white powder, and a ten-foot length of silken rope. He twisted the parchment strip once before moistening the ends and fastening them together with a dab of the white powder. Then he slipped one end of the rope through the twisted loop of paper, sprinkled it with the rest of the white powder, and tossed it into the air. The rope caught on something unseen and dangled before the saurial’s face, suspended from nowhere. Grypht continued to concentrate on the rope for another minute—extending the length of the spell, Akabar suspected—before motioning for the Turmishman to climb it.

Akabar handed Grypht’s staff back to him, spat on his hands, and pulled himself up the rope into the extradimensional space created by the saurial wizard’s spell. Grypht tossed him his staff, and then Akabar watched anxiously as the scaly lizard hauled his great bulk up the rope with his muscular arms. Once the wizard had reached the top and collapsed beside him, Akabar pulled the rope up behind them.

The space they found themselves in was white and empty. The two spell-casters, Grypht’s staff, and the rope were the only occupants of the dimension. It was a dull place, but safe—for as long as it lasted. Considering the power Akabar had seen the saurial wizard wield, the Turmishman estimated this dimension spell would last several hours. He turned to ask Grypht what they would do next, but the saurial was unconscious, gasping for air as if he’d been poisoned.

Akabar pulled away the treant vines that remained around the creature’s throat, carefully removing the suckers that appeared to be burrowing into the scales and plate protecting Grypht’s neck. Almost immediately Grypht began to breathe more easily, though he was still badly injured. One side of his body was scorched from being too close to Akabar’s wall of fire. The Turmish mage felt a twinge of guilt at having endangered the wizard, but he’d really had no choice. Mostly, Akabar suspected, Grypht was hurt from the beating he’d taken by the twisted treants.

The only thing to be done now, Akabar realized, was to let the creature rest and heal naturally. He hoped the saurial wizard would awaken before the extradimensional space dissolved, so they could return to Shadowdale without further incident.

Breck scowled across the ravine and cursed under his breath.

“What is it?” Alias asked, pulling her horse up beside the ranger’s mount.

“Damn magic trick!” the ranger growled. “The creature’s taken a dimensional doorway across. We’ve got to climb down the ravine and back up and pick up the search for the trail again on the other side.”

“Oh,” Alias replied softly.

Breck glanced at the sun, which lay low near the horizon. “There’s just enough light to make it to the other side before dark.”

“It’s an awfully steep slope for the horses,” Alias ventured.

“There’s a trail leading down. We passed it a few minutes back,” Breck said, turning his horse and urging the animal south, along the edge of the ravine.

Alias turned her own horse to follow the ranger. Dragonbait was nowhere in sight, but when she and Breck reached the trail leading down into the ravine, they discovered the saurial seated beside it, munching an apple.

Ignoring Dragonbait, the ranger scratched his horse’s neck and spoke some encouraging words into its ear. The horse started down the steep trail without the slightest balk. Alias’s mount followed the example set by the lead horse. Dragonbait stood up as they passed and followed along behind, tossing his apple core into the brush.

In the ravine, it grew dark before the sun had set, and Dragonbait took the lead. The saurial paladin commanded his magical sword to flame and carried it high, like a torch. The river at the bottom of the ravine was deep and swift, but fortunately the trail led to a rough wooden bridge across the water. They filled their water bottles and continued on. By the time they’d reached the top of the ravine again, the sun had set.

Breck passed the saurial and turned his horse back to the north.

“You’re not going to try tracking in the dark, are you?” Alias asked.

“There’ll be twilight for at least an hour yet,” Breck replied, “and the moon is full tonight.” He nudged his horse onward.

Dragonbait stood aside so Alias could follow the ranger. The swordswoman checked often to be sure Dragonbait kept up now that it was growing dark. Occasionally she looked down into the ravine, and on one such occasion, she spotted a light moving across the bridge.

Alias halted her horse and waited until Breck had moved out of earshot. Then she dismounted and grabbed Dragonbait’s shirt before he could pass her by.

“Who’s following us?” she demanded in an urgent whisper.

The saurial paladin shrugged.

“Who were you marking the trail for?”

Dragonbait looked at her blankly, but Alias wouldn’t accept his dumb animal look.

“Dragonbait, I can’t believe you’re treating me like this. Why don’t you trust me?” Alias asked.

Dragonbait stared down at the ground. He looked genuinely ashamed.

“Just tell me,” Alias said. “I promise I won’t get angry. Who is it? Olive? Nameless? Another saurial?”

Dragonbait signed five letters, spelling a name.

“Zhara!” the swordswoman shouted angrily.

You promised you wouldn’t get angry, Dragonbait signed.

“Zhara?” Alias asked more softly. “It can’t be Zhara. Mourngrym promised to keep her at the tower.”

Dragonbait signed that Zhara was a powerful priestess.

Alias scrunched up her forehead, considering the paladin’s words. She hardly knew a thing about the spells gods granted their priests. Healing and removing curses was all she ever considered priests good for. That Zhara could escape a guarded tower had never occurred to her. “Breck is going to be furious when he finds out,” she whispered.

He’s already furious, Dragonbait signed.

“But not with us,” Alias said.

If you don’t tell him, Dragonbait signed, he won’t know. And we need her.

“No, we don’t,” Alias growled. “You promised Akabar you’d look after her. Suppose she gets hurt chasing after us in the wild. Have you considered that?”

Zhara isn’t helpless, Dragonbait signed.

Alias sighed. “If you say so,” she said, resigned. She turned back to her horse and remounted.

Just then Breck came back down along the trail, looking for them. “What’s keeping you?” he demanded. “I’ve found the place where the beast crossed over.”

“I had to pick a pebble out of my horse’s shoe,” Alias lied.

“Is the horse all right?” the ranger asked.

Alias nodded. “Let’s go,” she said, anxious that Breck should not spot the light in the ravine.

Breck turned his mount around. Suddenly he pulled the horse still. “What was that?” he asked.

“What was what?” Alias asked.

“Over there,” Breck said, pointing. “A bright light, like a fireball.” To Alias’s relief, his point indicated, not the ravine where Zhara’s light shone, but a spot on the southwest horizon.

Alias scanned the sky for several moments. “I don’t see anything,” she said.

“Wait awhile,” Breck replied.

Alias fidgeted nervously. If they waited too long, Zhara would make her way across the ravine and stumble on them. Then there would really be an explosion from Breck. “Maybe it was just a shooting star,” Alias suggested, “or the campfire of some other adventurer.”

Breck shook his head. He sat patiently, watching the dark horizon for another three minutes. Alias signaled hastily to Dragonbait to keep an eye on the rear, then turned back to the ranger.

“There!” Breck said, pointing once again to the same spot.

“It looks like a fire,” Alias said, surprised. “A big one.”

“It’s Grypht,” Breck announced.

“How do you know?” Alias asked disbelievingly.

“It’s him. I feel it. We’ll follow that light.”

“But the trail leads north. The light’s in the opposite direction,” Alias objected.

“Grypht has laid a false trail. If I’m wrong, we can come back to it later, but I know I’m not wrong.”

As they spoke, a second burst of light lit the horizon just near the flames in the distance.

“Another fireball,” Breck said.

Alias nodded. That’s what it looked like to her, too. “You must have sharp eyes to have seen that first fireball,” she said. “Or Tymora’s luck.”

Breck grinned, flattered. “Both,” he replied. “Let’s go,” he said, turning his horse to the southwest and nudging it into a trot.

Alias turned her mount and followed. Dragonbait took a moment to drape a strip of blue cloth over a bush before loping after them.

They spotted no more fireballs bursting in the sky, and the bright fire died down, but there was a residual glow on the horizon that served them as a beacon. They had traveled about four miles when they began to smell the smoke created by the fire. They slowed the horses to a walk. Small brush fires cut across their path. If not for the rain that had fallen in the area during the day, they wouldn’t have been able to proceed farther. As it was, there were swollen streams and plenty of sodden foliage to keep the fire from spreading out of control. After crossing a particularly wide stream, Breck stopped his horse and dismounted.

“We’ll leave the horses here. They’ll be safe by the water,” the ranger said, unbridling his mount. He clipped a lead rope onto its halter and tied the rope to a low tree branch. The horse immediately began grazing on the grass growing beneath it.

Alias slid down from her saddle and stretched her legs while Dragonbait took charge of her horse.

Breck nocked an arrow into his bow and began moving cautiously toward the fire.

Alias pulled the bow she’d gotten from Mourngrym from her saddlebag. Dragonbait looked at her in alarm.

“Relax,” she whispered. “I’m not going to shoot your friend. I just want to be prepared for whatever else is out there. If that’s him hurling fireballs, there’s got to be something else out there he’s throwing them at.”

The three adventurers picked their way through the charred undergrowth until they reached a circle of oak saplings, as close to one another as pickets in a fence. They circled round until they came upon a few saplings that had been broken and flattened to the ground. The ranger leaped into the clearing within the ring. By the light from the smoldering fires and the rising moon, Alias could just make out the silhouettes of three much larger trees lying on the ground.

Breck bent over one of the trees and stroked its charred bark. The swordswoman could have sworn she heard him sob.

“What is it?” Alias asked, stepping up behind the ranger.

“Treants,” Breck said, choking back a second sob. “They’ve been murdered—just like Kyre.”

Alias bit her lip. She turned back to see if Dragonbait had anything to say about the fallen treelike creatures. The saurial paladin stood beside the ring of saplings and hissed. Alias smelled the violet scent the lizard used to warn of danger.

“What is it?” Breck asked, turning around to see what upset Alias’s companion.

“Dragonbait senses evil,” the swordswoman explained.

“Evil was here, all right,” Breck said angrily. “It was Grypht. Look there.” The ranger pointed to a set of large prints in the mud beside one of the fallen treants. “And there—those must be your friend Akabar’s prints,” he added, indicating with a nod of his head a set of smaller prints unmistakably made by rope sandals.

Alias felt something brush against her leg. She gave a startled cry and tried to leap aside, but something had hold of her leg, and she fell heavily to the ground. Something curled, serpent-like, about her thigh and up around her waist. Alias’s eyes widened at the sight of the vinelike tendrils wrapping around her. She screamed and struggled to reach the dagger in her boot.

Dragonbait dashed up to one of the treants and hacked through the creature’s branchlike arm with his brightly flaming sword.

The tendrils about the swordswoman’s body went limp.

Breck dashed up to the saurial paladin, screaming, “What are you doing?”

Dragonbait stepped back and held his flaming sword out to keep Breck from approaching any closer.

“He saved my life,” Alias said, wriggling out of the tendrils.

“He’s desecrating a dead body,” the ranger growled.

Dragonbait signed to Alias.

“Breck,” Alias said softly, “I think you’d better take a closer look at these treants. Don’t they look peculiar to you?”

“They look dead,” Breck answered angrily.

“They look sick,” Alias corrected. “They didn’t even burn well. They only scorched—like rotted wood.”

“They were wet, like the rest of the brush around here,” Breck replied stubbornly.

“Look at them!” the swordswoman demanded, grabbing the ranger’s shoulders and forcing him to face the treant Dragonbait had just encountered. “They’re diseased … rotted completely through. Look inside of it,” Alias said, pointing at the treant’s severed arm. “Have you ever seen a treant with vines growing inside of it like that?”

With the tip of ah arrow, Breck poked gingerly at the branch. The vines within looked like maggots infesting a corpse. The ranger turned away from the sight, horror in his eyes.

“Well?” Alias said. “What do you think it is?”

“I … don’t know,” the ranger said slowly. “I’ve … I’ve never seen anything like it before. Have you?”

“Yes,” the swordswoman answered. “They remind me of the tendrils the undead god Moander used to control people, but the first time I saw them, the tendrils were all attached to him.”

“Moander’s dead,” Breck said.

Alias shifted uneasily, realizing that the treants could be a sign that the god was returning to the Realms. Akabar could be right after all, but she still couldn’t bring herself to admit it aloud. “Yes … Moander’s dead.” she said.

“Then this rot, these tendrils in the treants must be something Grypht did to them,” Breck claimed. “We’ll know for certain when we catch him. We’ll follow his trail until we’re out of the burnt-over region. Then we’ll go back and get the horses.” The ranger began looking for tracks near the broken saplings.

Alias rubbed her temples. She was tired and hungry and frustrated with the ranger’s single-mindedness. “Breck,” she called, deciding to try once more to enlighten the ranger. “It could be that Kyre was wrong about Grypht. These treants might have attacked the creature. Of course it would have defended itself as best it could.”

Breck spun about angrily. “Is that why it murdered Kyre—to defend itself from her?”

“Something else might have killed Kyre,” Alias replied.

“Or someone—like your friend Akabar,” Breck suggested.

Alias threw her hands up in the air. For lack of another thought, she addressed the ranger’s previous supposition. “Suppose Grypht did kill Kyre in self-defense? Suppose she mistook him for a monster and attacked, and he fired back?”

“Kyre didn’t mistake Grypht for a monster. He is a monster!” Breck declared and stomped off to search for the trail.

Alias looked at Dragonbait and shrugged. After a few moments, the pair of them followed the ranger.

Grypht’s trail wasn’t hard to follow, even in the moonlight. The creature had been running, oblivious to the fact it left a clear trail behind. Suddenly the trail ended abruptly, however. Beside Grypht’s tracks were two sandal prints—Akabar’s. Then there was nothing. The creature and the southern mage had vanished into thin air.

“Beshaba’s brats!” Breck cursed. “They’ve whisked themselves away by magic again.”

“Let’s get back to the horses and make camp,” Alias said. “We’ll have a look around in the morning.”

“They could be anywhere by then,” Breck objected.

“They’re already gone, ranger,” the swordswoman snapped. “And I’m not going anywhere in the dark. Neither are you.”

Breck’s shoulders slumped. He turned wordlessly and headed back to the stream where they’d tied their horses, with Alias and Dragonbait following him, as usual.

When they’d reached the spot where they’d tied the horses, they found their mounts were missing. No portions of their lead ropes were left attached to the branch at all. The horses hadn’t chewed through the ropes; they’d been untied.

“Someone’s stolen the horses,” Breck said.

Alias glanced at Dragonbait. “Who?” she asked. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Breck said, looking over the ground until he found a set of bootprints.

“Here we go again,” Alias muttered as they followed the ranger out of the clearing after the horse thief. This is Zhara’s doing, isn’t it? she signed to Dragonbait.

The saurial began examining the ground with exaggerated interest.

Suddenly Breck broke into a run, heading upstream. Alias looked up and gasped. There, not far from the stream, framed in a clearing in the moonlight, was a female figure in robes standing in front of a horse.

“Why doesn’t she just throw another light spell so he can see her better?” the swordswoman cracked sarcastically.

Dragonbait sheathed his sword and dashed after Breck.

Apparently unaware that she was being observed and about to be attacked by an angry ranger, the robed figure stood calmly stroking the horse’s muzzle and feeding it something from the palm of her hand. Alias was pretty sure it was Zhara—only a priestess was stupid enough to stand out in the open like that.

Alias walked slowly toward the scene. This trouble is Dragonbait’s fault, she thought. Let him handle it.

Breck leaped at the woman, knocking her to the ground. The horse neighed and shied backwards. Zhara screamed. Dragonbait pounced on Breck.

Alias pulled an apple out of her knapsack and began munching on it. While the ranger, priestess, and saurial rolled about on the wet grass, Alias grabbed hold of the horse—it was Breck’s—and pushed it out of harm’s way. Slowly she fed it her apple core as Dragonbait pulled Breck off Zhara.

The priestess made it to her feet and moved away, shielding herself from Alias by standing on the opposite side of Breck’s horse. Alias shot a glance at the priestess, but Zhara had already pulled the hood of her cloak back up, hiding her face.

Dragonbait and Breck rolled around in the grass a few more times until the swordswoman asked, “Are you two having fun?”

Dragonbait looked up suddenly. When he caught sight of Zhara, safely out of the fracas, and Alias, watching with a bemused expression, he looked almost sheepish. He went limp and let Breck pin him to the ground.

“I have you now!” the ranger declared.

“Yes, but what are you going to do with him? You can’t ride him, and he’s too tough to eat,” Alias said with a chuckle. “He might make an interesting pair of boots—maybe.”

Breck looked at Alias and turned purple with fury at the sight of the swordswoman laughing at him. He released Dragonbait and leaped to his feet. “You!” he shouted, pointing a finger at Alias. “You helped her to escape! No wonder you were so anxious to defend her husband. Did Lord Mourngrym know?”

“Know what?” Alias asked, disdainful of the ranger’s confused accusations.

“That she’s your sister,” Breck snarled.

“What are you talking about?” Alias snapped back. “I haven’t any sisters.”

“Then who is she?” Breck demanded, yanking the hood of Zhara’s cloak off the priestess’s head.

The swordswoman squinted in the moonlight at Zhara and saw, for the first time, what Breck had seen when he’d been rolling on the ground with the priestess. There was something familiar about the pointed chin, the high cheekbones, the thin nose, the green eyes, and the red hair. Alias gasped and backed away. Zhara’s features were familiar because they were the swordswoman’s own features. Except for the dusky hue of her southern skin, Zhara could have been Alias’s twin. Alias realized in a flash just what Zhara was.

“No!” Alias shrieked furiously, drawing her sword. “She’s not my sister! She’s one of the fiend Phalse’s spawn!”