The slig lurched backward so abruptly that Kitiara lost her grip. Swaying and falling face forward, it knocked over Ursa, pinning his right leg. Hurrying to the fray, Droopface helped Kit pull their leader out from under the dead creature.
After a moment Ursa sat up, a shaky grin on his face. A bloody gash ran across his shoulder, and his face was bruised and raked with scratches. But he flexed his leg without much pain and managed to stand.
Across the cave, Droopface was already tending to Colo. He had stripped off her clothes and was rubbing her body with one of his unguents. Her moaning had subsided, although every once in a while she yelped in pain. Rolling in the dirt had not been just a reflex; Colo had slowed the effects of the spittle with her actions. Kit knew, from Ursa, that a slig's venom stung like an army of bees, but if treated swiftly, could be counteracted.
The ugly slig lay twisted and motionless in a dark pool of ichor, its stench filling Kit's nostrils. Looking down at it, she asked, somewhat breathlessly, "What now?"
"We cut off its head to prove we killed it," said Ursa.
They got to work with their swords, she and Ursa. It was hard slogging, for the slig's plated orange hide and corded neck muscles made it like cutting through stone. Only out of this particular stone poured a fetid black mess of blood and innards.
After toiling at the grisly task for some time, Ursa stood up wearily, the job done. He had secured a rope around the slig's head so they could lower it from the cave without having to carry the heavy, dripping trophy.
Kit went to Colo, who sat on a rock. Her skin was all red and blistered, and she was naked except for a coating of ointment and the blanket that Droopface had draped loosely around her.
"Thanks," said Kit awkwardly. "If it hadn't been for you…"
Ursa came over, too, and grinned down at Colo. "The pain will start to go away in a couple of hours," he said, then added, "if Cleverdon knows his stuff."
Even under the adverse circumstances. Kit was struck by Colo's lithe, sensuous figure. The female mercenary didn't show any false modesty. Colo didn't draw the blanket any
more tightly beneath their gaze. She looked up sulkily at both of them, settling her disgruntled face on Ursa.
"Slime and spittle," she muttered with a curse. "It hasn't been my day."
They rigged up a crude pulley and lowered the bloody head of the slig, the size and weight of a boulder, onto the ground below the waterfall. This took some time. It was past dusk and darkness was descending swiftly. Ursa dragged the slig's head several hundred feet into a small clearing and dropped the rope.
"We may as well camp here tonight," said the mercenary, rubbing the wound on his shoulder ruefully.
"What about the horses?" wondered Colo, who was still draped with a blanket.
"I'll get them," said Droopface, setting off in the direction from which they had come.
"I'll help," volunteered Kit, starting to follow.
Droopface waved her off and disappeared into the dark woods.
"He'll be all right," said Ursa.
"What about, er, that thing?" asked Kit, indicating the slig's gruesome head.
"Oh," said Ursa, "it isn't going anywhere." With some effort he lifted the bloody trophy and stuck it on the end of a short, thick branch thrusting out of a nearby tree. It dangled there, askew, like some grotesque pumpkin-face.
"It'll give the owls nightmares," said Colo with a shudder.
"It'll sure keep the crows away," added Kit with a grin.
Ursa laughed heartily. They were all exhilarated after the successful fight. Ursa whistled as he bandaged his shoulder, then started a fire. Colo was feeling better already and insisted on donning some clothes and scouting the area for food. The wild berries she brought back augmented the meatsticks that Ursa carried in his pack.
After eating, they set to work cleaning their blades. Colo was looking for more ointment and rummaging in Droop-face's pack, which he had left behind. Kitiara had just finished wiping her sword and was wrapping it in some big, dry leaves when Ursa spoke.
"Wonder where Cleverdon is," he said quietly. "He's been gone pretty long."
Before one of them could answer, a voice rang out in the woods and furtive noises encircled them.
"Stand where you are," said the voice.
Kit noticed that the small clearing had been invaded by a dank mist seeping in from the perimeter, billowing and growing in size. Out of the mist stepped a dozen men, two or three in ordinary tunics, the others elaborately armored from head to toe. These dozen said nothing, just stood there, shifting their weight. The armored ones wore flat-topped helmets with small eye slits and breathing holes. They were weighted down with an array of weapons, including ornate maces and battle-axes, as well as more conventional crossbows, shields, daggers, and swords.
Ursa made a move toward his sword, which was propped against a rock, but as he did so several nets flew out of the mist and wound themselves around him. They fell about him so tightly that he lost balance and toppled over into the dirt.
Two of the armored men clanked forward and hoisted Ursa between them. He could barely move, much less put up a fight. Kit struggled against her impulse to try to help him. Before he was gagged with a strip of leather Ursa managed to shout out, "Forget me! Save yourselves!" His face was taut and pale with fear.
A pair of the other men marched forward and grabbed Kitiara and Colo, tying them together with their backs to each other. Colo struggled and kicked, but all she got for her efforts was a hard jab in the side. Kit's mind was racing, trying to think-who were these new foes? What could she do to break free?
The guard closest to Kit was so thoroughly shrouded in steel that she could not tell if what lay underneath the metal was human or spirit. The one watching over Colo was not armored and looked more commonplace-a burly, bearded peasant with a chiseled face and glowering eyes.
Now Kit saw that three other men had materialized from the mist to join the original group. They were the leaders of this business, she realized. Two were elves, or half-elves, Kit guessed by how they held themselves, while the third was a dark-robed mage who stood apart from the others, his eyes glowing with concentration, lips moving, hands fluttering.
"No. Untie the black-haired one. She comes with us," said one of the elves, pointing to Kitiara. "Kill the other."
"What is her connection?" asked the other elf.
"She had the sword," said the first elf. "Let her answer for it."
He stepped forward, his eyes sweeping the area. Beck's sword, newly wrapped in leaves, lay at Kit's feet. In the darkness it was camouflaged. The elf, frowning and taking a step forward, did not see it.
Kit got a good look at him. It was the dark elf who had been watching her on board the Silver Gar. Somehow he had picked up her trail and followed her. But why?
"We must find it," the dark elf said tersely.
The mist surrounding them was now so thick that Kit could no longer see more than a dozen yards ahead of her. She could hear Ursa grunt as he was dragged to his feet. Colo whispered at her back.
"Get ready!"
Ready for what?
The peasant guarding Colo drew his curved dagger.
The mist was almost suffocating. But something more, it began to pulse and swirl, and then to swirl faster, creating a wind that whirled at terrific speed. A low, almost whining noise built to a din and then into a deafening roar. A roar so horrendous that Kit's one thought was not to escape but to break her bonds and clasp her hands over her ears. Leaves and branches broke off and flew past her. Debris whacked her in the face.