“All right,” Vascay said resignedly. “They’re our allies. Now what?”
“It’s already in hand, dear man,” the wizard said unctuously. “Our transportation is coming now.”
“Chief?” Halophus called. “The ground’s shaking!”
“It’s all right!” Metron said. “This is all planned!”
“By the Lady!” said Thalemos, standing near Garric but a comfortable distance behind and to the left. Since the youth didn’t have a weapon, he properly kept back from the line of armed men. “What is that monster?”
It was twenty feet high and walked on more many-jointed legs than Garric could see or imagine. Most of the creature’s squirming body was still hidden in the forest when the blunt head halted behind the trio of Archai; it must be hundreds of yards long. Two immense, multifaceted eyes covered most of the front; the mouth parts seemed small for the great body. A net of gold chain gleamed like a saddle blanket on the upper surface.
“It’s a millipede,” Garric said. He was glad to have Thalemos to answer; otherwise, he’d have been talking to himself, because he needed to get the words out. “That’s all it is, a big millipede. They don’t bite or sting, they’re harmless.”
The bandits edged closer together in the giant creature’s presence. They weren’t seeking so much protection as feeling the need of companionship in the face of the unimaginable. Mersrig had one of the Protectors’ sturdy spears. He clutched it in both hands and seemed to be steeling himself for a rush.
Garric strode forward, putting himself in front of the party. He could smell the millipede, now; the millipede or the Archai themselves. There was a slight astringency, an acid odor similar to that of sour wine.
“It won’t hurt us!” Garric said to the Brethren. “They eat compost, that’s all!”
It could step on them, of course; that would be as lethal as being in a collapsing building. But there were many ways a man could die….
There were more Archai on the millipede’s back, looking down over the smooth black curve of the armored segments. Their heads were triangular and expressionless.
Garric turned to the wizard. “What do we do now, Master Metron?” he asked.
“Do?” said Metron. “Why, mount our steed, of course, my boy. Under my guidance and protection, it will carry us to our destination.”
One of the Archai on the millipede’s back let down a ladder with center-hung wooden rungs on a chain of gold links. It clanged and clattered against the calcified segments of the creature’s shell.
Toster grabbed a rung, then looked back at Vascay. “Yes, go on!” the chief said. “What choice do we have?”
Toster started climbing. Another man took the ladder behind him; the whole band drifted into line to follow. The wizard smirked.
“Master Metron?” Garric said, smiling and speaking in a voice that only Thalemos was close enough to overhear.
“Yes, my boy?” Metron said.
“I’m not your boy, Master Metron,” Garric said, still wearing the deceptive smile. “I may be your ally, but I’m not your friend. And I’d like you to keep one thing in mind as we proceed.”
The wizard’s expression hardened. “Yes?” he said.
“People have died tonight over this business,” Garric said. “Some of them were people I liked a lot more than I do you. And if I ever decide that you’re sneering at my friends, either the dead ones or the living—I’ll kill you. Whatever that does to anybody’s plans. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Metron curtly.
“That’s good…” said Garric with a smile. His body was trembling with emotions and memories. “Because part of me would really regret it afterward. But it would be afterward, you see.”
He gestured to the ladder. Vascay, the last of the Brethren, was climbing it. “Go on up, Master Metron. Thalemos and I will follow.”
From the look on Metron’s face as he turned away, he did finally understand.
Cashel cleared his throat. It was hard for him to think properly with the little brown people crying, “Master!” and “Great lord!”
Tilphosa rested a hand on his biceps, looking for reassurance. This wasn’t a bad place she and Cashel were in, but it sure was confusing.
“I wish you’d stand straight and just talk to us!” Cashel said. The little people jumped up and stared like bunnies startled in the garden. Cashel supposed he’d spoken louder than maybe he’d needed to. He’d startled Tilphosa too, though she patted him and put her hand back on his arm just as quick.
“Lord?” the oldest of the little fellows said questioningly. Cashel had expected some of the people to fuss over the man he’d saved from the tree, but nobody seemed interested in him. He was sitting up, but his eyes didn’t focus yet.
“My name’s Cashel,” Cashel said. “Just call me that. And this is Tilphosa—”
He frowned and looked at the girl. “Ah?” he said. “Lady…?”
“Just Tilphosa,” she said, speaking directly to the little people. “And how are we to address you, sir?”
Of course Tilphosa was used to this sort of thing, meeting people and taking charge. It wasn’t something Cashel had ever had to learn about.
He smiled. Everybody in the borough knew who to turn to get their sheep settled down, though.
“We’re the Helpers, great lady,” the old man said. “My name is Twenty-second. May we feast you at our village, great lord and lady?”
Cashel’s belly rumbled at mention of food. The berries had been a long while ago. From what he’d seen in the village he didn’t guess there was a chance of bread and cheese, let alone meat, but most anything would go down a treat right now.
He looked at Tilphosa, expecting her to speak. She nodded crisply to him, passing back controclass="underline" this was his job.
“Sure, we’d like that,” Cashel said to Twenty-second. He pointed. “Ah, what’s his name? The fellow who was being eaten.”
“He was Fourteenth,” Twenty-second said. “Come, great lord and lady, let us feast!”
The whole troupe fluttered around Cashel and Tilphosa, chattering among themselves. Their voices too high-pitched for Cashel to make out the words—if there were words, not just a sort of birdlike chirping.
Girls no taller than Cashel’s waist took his hands. Three of them walked on either side, guiding him in the direction of the village. He held the staff crosswise in front of him while the girls skipped along and behind it like a train of draft animals hitched to a bar.
He glanced over his shoulder. Tilphosa was being conducted in the same fashion, though in her case by a bevy of young males. The rest of the Helpers spread to either side in a loose line. A few adults had run on ahead, vanishing into the immaculate plantings like deer in the forest.
“I’m hungry,” Tilphosa called when he caught her eye. “Even if it isn’t cooked food.”
Cashel grinned in answer, but he was frowning again when he faced the front. He could just make out Fourteenth, still where Cashel had flung him clear. He hadn’t moved since he sat up. The rest of the tribe had left him there alone.
Twenty-second walked a few paces to the right, smiling when Cashel looked over to him. “Lord?” the old man said.
Cashel almost asked about Fourteenth, but said instead, “Do you get many visitors here, Master Twenty-second?”
“No, no,” Twenty-second replied. “You’re the first one in—”
He turned up his palms in uncertainty. “I don’t know how long,” he said. “My father spoke of visitors, but whether he saw them or his own father did and told the tale, I don’t know.”
Cashel looked at the little man and looked up at the sun, now nearing zenith. The days and nights here seemed to be the usual length. Even if the years also were the same as Cashel was used to, though, these Helpers might not live as long as folks did—the lucky ones did, anyway—back home. It explained why they were making such a big thing about him and Tilphosa arriving, though.