Everyone strained to see, but it was Viz, hovering high above,who first matched the sound to a possible source.
“Armed riders, on large bipedal lizards. They’re all hooded, so I can’t make out their tribes. Outlines are indistinct.”
“How big?” a concerned Gragelouth inquired.
“Riders no larger than the otters. Snouts protruding from the hoods. Light-colored whiskers. I see some tails. Long and fur-covered, mostly light brown.” The tickbird glanced meaningfully at his companions. “They’re coming this way.”
Snaugenhutt took a deep breath. Espying a large boulder, he headed toward the natural barrier. “Better get ready for company.” No one argued with him.
As the rhino positioned his backside to the stone the otters drew their bows, making sure arrows were at the ready.
Buncan laid his sword across his lap as Viz settled onto his armored perch atop Snaugenhutt’s forehead. Gragelouth sought to find a use for his fingers, and failing that, nibbled nervously on the pointed tips of the thick, heavy claws.
Their progress marked by the cloud of dust kicked up by their mounts, the riders advanced until they were within spear-throwing distance. Spreading out, they formed an unbroken line in the shape of a crescent in front of the stolid Snaugenhutt. There were enough of them to block any attempt at flight, not that the rhino could have outrun the speedy lizards even over flat ground.
As the dust settled, Buncan and his companions were able to get a good look at those confronting them. The riding animals pawed at the ground with nervous energy, bright green eyes shining alertly, small sharp teem glistening in their jaws. Leather bridles and reins were intricately tooled, as were individual saddles and other tack.
As their mounts settled in place, several of the riders adjusted their hoods. It was the widely traveled Gragelouth who finally identified them.
“Meerkats.”
“I don’t know that tribe.” Buncan was intrigued by the creatures.
“An uncommon one. The eyes and snouts are unmistakable. They are fabled desert dwellers. I myself have encountered them only once before, in far more civilized circumstances than these.”
Though the meerkats were in the majority, there were also a couple of ground squirrels among the riders, as well as individual representatives of several other desert-favoring tribes. Buncan tensed as one of the riders slowly advanced, an elaborately whittled spear cradled in his short but powerful arms. A beaded cloth quiver lashed to the riding lizard’s right flank held half a dozen similar implements.
Wide, dark eyes inspected them carefully. The mouth seemed frozen in a perpetual half-sneer. “More interesting than most travelers we see. From whence do you hail?”
“From farther than you can imagine.” Buncan was as startled as anyone to hear Gragelouth speak up. “From beyond the Tamas, beyond Poukelpo, beyond Camrioca, and even the river Sprilashoone.”
“That far.” The rider did not sound impressed. “Well, never let it be said that the Xi-Murogg denied hospitality to travelers in then: country. If you will follow us back to our village, we would be pleased to exchange tales and share victuals with you.”
Buncan hesitated. “We’re kind of in a hurry.”
“To refuse hospitality is to insult not only me but all the Xi-Murogg.” As the rider spoke, his fellow villagers shuffled their weapons: everything from javelins to small, one-handed crossbows to hooked knives and swords.
These nomads were not likely to scatter in panic at a charge from Snaagenhutt, Buncan reflected. Tough and determined, they were fashioned of far sturdier stuff man Krasvin’s retainers. Had they numbered half a dozen or less, maybe, but there were nearly thirty of them.
Perhaps all they did want was the company of strangers. Certainly they didn’t encounter many travelers out here. It was also possible they might know the fastest and easiest route out of the desert.
“You lead and we shall follow.” Gragelouth had apparently reached the same decision.
The hooded one bowed slightly. “Graciousness is unto a shield in the desert. I am Chi-churog, First Rider of the Xi-Murogg people. It will be my honor to welcome you into my house.” He turned and sent his lizard trotting northward. The line of riders parted to let him pass.
Squill leaned forward, whispering. “I don’t care for this, mate.”
“Gragelouth’s doing the right thing. What else can we do?”
“Run like ‘ell an’ make a fight of it,” the otter replied.
“No.” Human and otter turned to face the merchant. “Their mounts are too quick. They would run us down. We may yet have to fight, though I am putting my faith in tact and diplomacy. But mis is not the place to do it. Let us sound mem out first.”
“Bloody ‘ell. I’m outvoted again, ain’t I?”
“Afraid so.” Buncan turned to speak with Viz, leaving the otter to sulk in his seat.
Escorted by the Xi-Murogg, Snaugenhutt trundled along behind Chi-churog as they crossed a series of crumbling gullies. Turning right up a smooth-surfaced slope, they passed through a high, narrow cleft in a sheer rock wall. This penetrated the solid stone for a respectable distance before finally opening onto a sizable box canyon.
High-peaked tents dyed in a panic of colors and patterns were scattered about the high ground. Some were striped vertically or diagonally, others were checked, a couple sported polka dots of alternating hue. Most clustered around the spring-fed, reed-fringed pool that occupied the depression in the center of the canyon. The colorful, nonthreatening view somewhat offset the realization that there was only one way out of the sheer-sided stone amphitheater.
It was a natural fortress and an excellent place to camp, Buncan reflected as they rode in. Squill’s reservations vanished as soon as he saw the pool. When the otters’ request was made known to Chi-churog, he amiably and without hesitation granted them permission for a swim. They didn’t hesitate, doffing their attire with admirable speed and plunging into the delightfully cool pond without delay. A number of villagers gathered silently to watch the lanky visitors sport within the clear waters.
Buncan was feeling much better about their situation. The overtly cheerful tents, the neatly tended and surprisingly extensive irrigated fields, Chi-churog’s friendliness, all combined to suggest a comparatively peace-loving people who armed themselves only out of need to deal daily with the exigencies of a harsh land.
Only when he had dismounted and gone for a stroll later among the tents did he see the expertly mounted, carefully cleaned bones.
They decorated more man one dwelling, and there were too many of them to write the grisly displays off as a familial aberration. None boasted of reptilian origins. A horrified Buncan identified the bleached white skulls of two large cats. Another hut was crowned by a bear’s skull. What a bear had been doing roving the Tamas he couldn’t imagine; he knew only that the unfortunate ursine’s wanderings had ended here.
Had these wretched travelers perished from heat or exhaustion out in the unforgiving desert, or had they been deliberately slain and brought here? He was beginning to fear that Squill had been right and they should have made a break for freedom the instant they’d been confronted by the nomadic outriders. Too late now. A glance was enough to show that the only way out, through the narrow cleft by which they’d arrived, was well-guarded.
Yet the skulls mounted like trophies didn’t square with the extensive fields of painstakingly tended crops. Dedicated agronomists didn’t slaughter strangers, and the extensively tilled land was proof that the Xi-Murogg were not roving bandits. What was going on here?