The gray wolf turned, changed to lean teener boy. “Where does one mountain end and another begin anyway? We’re close if we’re not already there. Yaro says there’s nothing happening, the mountain’s quiet, there’s not a bird or beast visible twenty miles around. Even the wind is dying down.”
“Ah. Think that means anything? The wind?”
“Only one who could tell you that is him.” Jaril waved a hand at Ahzurdan who was staring at nothing they could see, his eyes glazed, his face empty.
“I’ll see what I can do. Tell Yaril to get us upslope as directly as she can even if we have to slow down some more.” She watched the big wolf lope off, shook her head. He looked like being well past puberty now, whatever that meant. Confusion compounded, shuh! She caught up with Ahzurdan, rode stirrup to stirrup with him for several minutes, examining him, wondering how she was going to reach him. “Dan.-He gave no sign he heard her. “Ahzurdan.” Nothing. She leaned over, caught hold of his arm, passed a jolt of energy into him. “Ahzurdan!” He twitched, tried to pull away, but there was no more life in his face than there had been moments before. She let go of him, slowed until she was riding beside Daniel Akamarino. “Give me the wineskin for a moment.”
“Why?”
“You don’t need to ask and I don’t need to explain. Don’t be difficult, Danny Blue.”
“Wine won’t float him out of that funk.”
“I’m not about to build a fire so he can sniff his way up. That wine of yours has Thngjii’s touch on it.”
“Heesh hasn’t been much in sight since we left Lio’s boat.”
“Luck comes in many colors, Daniel. Stop arguing and give me the skin.”
“Not going to work, Brann, I’ve seen that kind of down before; he won’t come out of it.”
“What are you fussing about, Dan? You won’t lose a cup of wine, the thing’s magic, it refills itself.”
He shrugged the strap off his shoulder, swung the skin, let it go. “All you’ll get is a drunk marshmallow, Brann, he’s had the fight whipped out of him.”
She caught the skin, set it on the mule’s shoulders. “If you’re right, we’re dead, Daniel Akamarino. You better hope you’re not.” She heeled the mule into a quicker walk, left him behind. When she was beside
Ahzurdan, she forced her mule as close to his as both beasts would tolerate, leaned over and slapped Ahzurdan’s face hard.
He looked at her, startled, the mark of her hand red across his pale cheek.
She held out the wineskin. “Take this and drink until you can’t hold any more. If you start arguing with me, I’m going to knock you out of that saddle, pry your mouth open and pour it down you.”
He chuckled (surprising both of them), the glaze melted from his eyes. “Why not.” He took the skin, lifted it in a parody of a toast. “Hai, Maksim, a short life ahead for you and an interesting one. Hai, Tungjii, li’l meddler. Hai, Godalau with your saucy tail. Hai, Amortis, may you get what you deserve. Hai, you fates, may we all get what we deserve.” He thumbed the stopple out, tilted his head back and sent the straw gold wine arcing into his throat.
They rode on. The wine took hold in Ahzurdan, though it was perhaps only Tungjii’s fingerprints in it that made the difference. He was still worn, close to exhaustion, but his face flushed and his eyes grew moist and he looked absurdly contented with life; he even hummed snatches of Phrasi songs. In spite of the improvement in his spirits, though, he didn’t respin his defenses or prepare for the attack they all knew was coming. When he started to mutter incoherently, to sway and fumble at the reins, his nose running, his eyes turned bleary and unfocused, Brann sighed, took the wineskin away and tossed it back to Daniel Akamarino who did not say I told you so but managed by his attitude to write the words in the air in front of him.
The way got steeper and more difficult; they had to clamber about rock slides, dismounting (even Ahzurdan) to lead the mules over the unstable scree; they had to circle impassible clots of thorny brush; they changed direction constantly to avoid steep-walled uncrossable ravines; with Yaril plotting their course they never had to backtrack and lose time that way, but she couldn’t change the kind of ground they had to cover. As the afternoon slid slowly and painfully away they labored on through the lengthening shadows riding tired and increasingly balky mules.
Fire bloomed in the air in front of them, fire boiled out of the ground around them.
Yaril dived and changed; a throbbing golden lens, she caught some of that fire and redirected it through the leafy canopy into the sky. Jaril howled and changed, whipped in swift circles about the riders, catching fire and redirecting it.
The mules set their feet, dropped their heads and stood where they were, terrified and incapable of doing more than shallow breathing and shaking.
Ahzurdan struggled to gather will again and spread the sphere about them but he could not, he was empty of will, empty of thought, empty of everything but pain.
Brann looked frantically about, helpless, sick with frustration, nothing she could do here, nothing but hope the children could hold until Ahzurdan reached deep enough and found some last measure of strength within him.
Daniel unzipped the pocket where the stunner was; he didn’t really think it would work on those creatures, if creatures they were, what he wanted was a firedamp, but those he knew of were on starships back home which didn’t do a helluva lot of good right now.
A huge red foot came kicking through the trees; it caught several of the fire elementals and sent them flying, their wild whistling shrieks dying in the distance. The foot stomped on more fire, grinding it into the troubled earth, perilously close to the mules (who shivered and shook and flattened their ears and huddled closer together). Having converted to confusion the concerted attack of fire and earth, their sudden new defender bent over them. Four sets of red fingers began probing through trees and brush and grass, digging into cracks in the earth like a groomer hunting fleas, picking up the whistling shuddering elementals, shaking them into terrified passivity, flinging them after the first.
When she finished that, Red Slya stood and stretched, fifty meters of naked four-armed female, grinning, showing crimson teeth. She set her four hands on her ample hips and stood looking with monstrous fondness on the fragile mortals she’d rescued so expeditiously. “EHH LITTLE NOTHING, IN TROUBLE AGAIN, ARE YOU?”
“Slya Fireheart.” Brann bowed with prudent courtesy, head dipping to mule mane. She straightened. “In trouble, indeed, and of course you know why, Great Slya.”
Huge laughter rumbled thunderously across the mountains. “SENT AMORTIS SKREEKING, HER TAIL ON FIRE, AHHHH, I LAUGHED, I HAVEN’T LAUGHED SO HARD IN YEARS. COOOME, MY NOTHING, FOLLOW ME ALONG, OLD MAKSI, HE CAN PLAY WITH HIMSELF.” She swung around, shrinking as she turned until she was only ten meters high. Singing a near inaudible bumbumrumbum, she strode off.
Brann looked hastily about, located the children. They stood together in the shade of a half-uprooted pine whose needles were charred and still smoldering, something that was peculiarly apt to their mood. Hand in hand, intense and angry, their silent talk buzzing between them, they fixed hot crystal eyes on Slya’s departing back. “Yaro, Jay, not now, let’s go.”
They turned those eyes on her and for a long moment she felt completely alienated from them, shut out from needs, emotions, everything that made them what they were. Then Yaril produced a fake sigh and a smile and melted into a shewolf, Jaril echoed both the sigh and the smile and dropped beside her, a matching hewolf. They trotted ahead of the mules, gray shadows hugging huge red heels. Brann kicked her own heels into the blue roan’s plump sides and tried to get him moving; he honked at her, put his head down and thought he was going to buck until she slapped him on the withers and sent a jolt of heat into him. Once she got him straightened up and pacing along, the other two mules hurried to keep up with him, unwilling to be left behind.