"Come, Tam," he called half-heartedly, noticing for the first time that the wolf was not at his side. But Tam did not appear.
Memory flooded back, and Mika remembered with a rush, the whirlwind sequence of events of his encounter with the magic-user.
The gust of wind had struck Tam in mid-air, while he was outside of Mika's aura of protection. It had tumbled him head over tail out of the direct area of confrontation. Yet Mika had heard him cry out, as the lightning bolt struck.
Mika was overcome with fear, and his heart began to pound as he looked around him, searching for the wolf. It was dark, yet Mika persisted and found the wolf at last.
Tam was still lying down, his muzzle on his paws and his hind legs and tail stretched out behind him. And he still looked like an enormous, very long, hedgehog.
"Tam!" Mika cried in alarm, rushing to the wolfs side. He placed a trembling hand on Tam's ribs and felt the great heart beating, albeit erratically, against his palm. Mika was weak with relief. Tam was alive, but stiff as a board.
Stroking Tam, trying to smooth the bristling fur down, Mika talked to the great wolf, knowing from his own experience that the wolf could probably hear him.
"You were far enough away from the lightning that it didn't kill you. Probably just gave you one hell of a good, stiff jolt. Stiff enough to stand your fur on end. Then he must have tossed in a stun spell for good measure. My spell of invulnerability protected me, but you, my poor Tamlur, were too far away, so you caught that one, too. And you were probably as confused as I was.
"Don't worry, Tam. I'm here now."
Muttering soothing comments, Mika tipped the wolf gently over onto his side, slipped an arm under and around his body, and then lifted him off the ground.
Tam was nearly as tall as Mika from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail, and he was now as hard as a rock and equally as heavy. He was hard to hold on to, and he kept slipping out of Mika's arms. Once he fell to the ground and lay there on his back until Mika was able to heave him onto his shoulder and balance him there, teetering, with one hand on the stiffened tip of his tail, the animal's snout sticking out on the opposite side. He carried him like a furry log for the fire.
Mika had almost reached his own campfire when he startled a sleepy driver relieving himself in the shadow of his wagon. The trickle faltered and then stopped completely as the man stared at him with eyes and mouth agape.
Mika glared at him, daring the driver to speak as he strode past. "What's the matter?" he snarled. "Haven't you ever seen anyone walking a wolf before?"
Chapter 8
FALLING INTO A DEEP SLEEP after tucking his cloak around the stricken wolf, Mika had wakened to chaos and Hornsbuck's rough hand on his shoulder.
"Wake up! Mischiefs afoot," he said gruffly.
Mika leaped to his feet, sword in his hand, ready for anything from bandits to kobolds. But all he saw was sand.
He blinked his eyes, hoping, wondering if it were some lingering affect of the spell. But when he opened his eyes the view was the same.
The pool of water was gone, as was the lush carpet of grass. In their place was a barren hill sprinkled with a thin covering of grease bushes and rocks. The men were staring about them with wide, frightened eyes, swords drawn uselessly against an unseen enemy.
"Magic. Illusion," Mika said. Thirst already clawed at his throat even though he had drunk his fill of the sweet water only a few short hours before.
"Oh, no," he groaned as a thought hit him and he ran to the nearest pile of harnesses and packs and stared in dismay at the withered and empty waterskins.
"Gone. All gone," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, remembering that it was by his order that the men had emptied the skins and filled them with water from the illusionary pool. It was some kind of magic delaying tactic, nothing more, he told himself. Or was it the prelude to something worse? Who was putting obstacles in their path?
The sun was rising fast over the edge of the horizon and already the mules were bawling for their morning drink. The horses, while quieter, were restless and shaking their heads from side to side.
The drivers huddled together, muttering in low tones and casting black glances at Mika.
The nomads were breaking camp and saddling their horses. Their years of training and self-discipline enabled them to exhibit a calm front, but Mika knew that they were surely filled with the same feelings of fear and uncertainty.
"We must turn back to the forest," Mika decided, drawing Hornsbuck to the far edge of the wagons. "No matter what the Guildsman says, we cannot continue without water. Even he will be forced to agree."
"I do agree," said the Guildsman, popping up at Mika's back. "But look yonder-storm clouds, coming this way fast. I warrant they will be here no later than midday. I say that we continue on. We should be able to fill our waterskins with ease, and the rain will bring on the grass. The horses and mules will feed well, and we will make good time."
"What do you think, Hornsbuck?" asked Mika, unwilling to do the man's bidding.
"He's right," growled Hornsbuck as he stroked his beard and squinted at the rapidly approaching front. "Black, heavy. Full of rain, no doubt. Be hell to pay if they catch us in the open. Never get back to the forest before they hit. Lose time. Might as well stay here."
Mika was forced to agree. Though he was anxious to have the trip over and done with, it made no sense to get caught up in a foul storm. So they saddled the horses, loaded the pack animals, and led the mules to harness, working quickly against the advance of the ominous curtain of billowing black clouds that stretched across the entire northern horizon.
The animals were nervous and allowed the humans to do as they wished. The mules showed the whites of their eyes and brayed long and loud, each outburst setting off others until the whole camp echoed with their cries. Even the wolves were affected and lifted their muzzles and howled forlornly till everyone, even the nomads, were half-crazed.
"I've never seen nuthin' like this 'afore," cursed the one-eyed driver. "Stupid animals."
But Mika had his doubts and eyed the storm with apprehension, wondering if it were truly an act of nature or another apparition.
Yet the storm was real and hit them before they had traveled more than a mile. It might have been better had they remained in camp, for they were barely able to turn the wagons into a circle before the curtain of wind and rain smashed into them.
The rain was cold and slashed down on their exposed skin with the force of hail, leaving men and animals feeling bruised and sore after only a few minutes' time.
The wind tore at them, whipping at their clothes and hair and screaming through the wagons, causing the hides to billow and pop, threatening to overturn those wagons that stood broadside to the force of the wind.
"Turn those wagons!" Mika screamed, and whipping the grey horse into the wind, rode up alongside three wagons that were in danger of tipping.
The wind seized his words almost before they were spoken, plucking them from his lips and hurling them away, unheard. Only by gestures was he able to tell the drivers what to do. So set in their ways were they that it was necessary to beat one of them with the flat of his sword before he would turn the wagon, so that the back end could take the brunt of the wind.
Using his sword, Mika then split the tough cowhide that sealed both front and back, allowing the wind to whisde through unimpeded, doing no damage.
Mika was quick to notice that the Guildsman himself was directing the placement of the creaking wagon and stayed close by its side even when it was in place, its wheels chocked firmly with stones. Many of the drivers had followed Mika's lead and opened their wagons to allow the wind through. But the secret wagon still remained tightly sealed.