He quickly locked the gate and returned to the fire, throwing more logs on. “Votons,” he explained. I hope they’re afraid of fire. Now would be a good time to show off your skills, Slin.”
“Charming!” The dwarf took his bolts and stood up. “As long as there are no more than fifty of them we should be all right. After that I run out of ammunition.”
Rodario did not answer. He thought there might be more.
They were running through the twilight, with two Zhadar at the front. The size of more footprints they had found indicated they were probably made by Coira.
But they had also found a number of different tracks that were not so easy to identify. Without what they had heard from the famulus about the Votons they would probably have thought them made by a herd of cattle, but the creatures responsible for these seemed to have both human and animal feet. Barskalin identified cattle prints alongside the human first, but there were also the pad marks of bears and other wild animals.
“I know why I don’t like magic,” said Ireheart grimly. “Unnatural animals! They may have legs like cows, but you won’t be able to cut them up and roast them on a spit to eat.”
“Isn’t your wife a maga? And two of your children, too?” Tungdil jumped over a fallen tree with ease, as if the armor didn’t represent any additional weight.
Ireheart took a little longer to get over the obstacle. “That’s a different sort of magic,” he corrected. “Dwarf-magic. It’s never hurt me, not in two hundred cycles. Never harmed me or anyone else.”
“But if Goda had remained with Lot-Ionan, who do you think we would have been campaigning against now?” Tungdil’s voice sounded like a chief negotiator picking holes in the argument of the other side. “And perhaps it would have been you wearing my sort of armor.”
“Never,” Boindil blurted out. “I mean, Goda would never have allied herself to evil…”
“Fair enough. I was only putting an idea out there.”
Tungdil swung to the left at a signal from the Zhadar. The trees were thinning out and they found the queen face down on the scorched earth.
“Vraccas, don’t let her be dead,” Ireheart prayed, leaping forward and waving his crow’s beak threateningly. “Ho, you mad magus-inspired creatures! Stay in your hiding places!” He lowered his head. “Or, better still, come out and let me rearrange your limbs for you!”
Tungdil knelt down next to the girl and turned her over; the Zhadar surrounded them, keeping a sharp lookout over the surrounding area. “She’s still breathing,” he said to Ireheart. “I can’t see any injuries. Perhaps she’s just overcome with exhaustion.”
Coira’s eyelids flickered. “Take care,” she whispered weakly. “They have set a trap for you… a famulus…”
A bright stream of magic shot out from behind the trees and struck one of the Zhadar full in the face. His head vaporized and his torso tumbled convulsing to the ground, as if the body was trying to carry out avoidance tactics. Blood came spurting out of the stump, splashing everyone.
“Get under cover!” Tungdil leaped forward, trying to locate the famulus in the shadows.
Ireheart certainly was not going to be seeking shelter. “He’s mine!” He ran four paces at Tungdil’s side to face the perfidious attacker. “I’ll beat you to a pulp, Franek!” he vowed, utterly convinced the famulus they had found must have overpowered the actor and fourthling and followed them to attack from behind! “You won’t get away with this!” he shouted angrily.
He was all the more bemused, then, to see a man appear before him in a pale gray hooded tunic and knee-high boots and with a broad sword hanging from his weapons belt. He was wearing light brown gloves and had his arms half raised. Presumably this unknown figure was in the middle of casting another spell.
“How many more of you are there in this accursed forest?” yelled Ireheart, launching an attack. “You’re worse than mushrooms!” Then he realized he had misjudged the distance between himself and his foe.
Before he could reach his adversary he saw the left hand release three lilac-colored rays that fused into one, heading his way!
Just before the ray touched him, a black wall sprang up to protect him and then Ireheart saw a number of runes glowing brightly in front of his face as a wave of heat passed over him.
The dazzling light affected his eyes. No matter which way he turned his head, he could only register the afterimages of those symbols, making it well-nigh impossible to attack the famulus. “Scholar?” he called, listening for a response.
There was a hissing sound and again it grew as bright as day.
“Blast! Things were just getting better!” Ireheart complained. He could hear the clank of metal on metal, then there was a roar, and brightness and dark alternated swiftly-until there was a loud shout and a body fell onto the ash-strewn forest floor.
“Tungdil!” At least Ireheart was now able to recognize outlines. The squat black shape in front of him must be his friend. A human lay dead on the ground. “Thanks be to Vraccas,” he said, relieved and disappointed at one and the same time. He had badly wanted to be the one to fell the enemy. “This hocus pocus is getting on my nerves. How did he get here?” He rubbed his eyes until he could see clearly again.
Tungdil had sliced the magician right through, and then finished him off with stabs to the heart. “These are Lot-Ionan’s personal signature runes on his tunic,” he mused.
“Was it him and Franek together, do you think, setting up that ambush? Or is he here by coincidence?” Ireheart went over to join Tungdil. The two of them looked at the young man’s corpse.
Tungdil rammed Bloodthirster into the ground and searched the body and the rucksack. Apart from a bag of coins he found two keys, some provisions, and maps of Sangpur and Ran Ribastur. “Not very much there.”
“No. Not very much.” Ireheart leaned on his weapon. “Let’s get back to the barn. Franek can tell us who this fellow is.”
Tungdil ordered two of the Zhadar to carry the corpse. Mallenia supported the half-conscious Coira. She was too weak to be able to speak much but hinted that the famulus had ambushed her and struck her down with a spell.
“Oh, my blessed forge,” Ireheart murmured, stroking his beard. “If she can’t stand up to a poxy famulus, how is she ever supposed to cope against Lot-Ionan?”
“Victoriously,” was Balyndar’s reply. “I don’t doubt her abilities. If you get an arrow in the back what earthly use are your crow’s beak and all your courage?”
Ireheart had to admit the young dwarf was right. But he was not happy about it and for some time went on searching for what would have been the perfect riposte.
Slin had climbed up to the hayloft and opened the loading hatch above the gate. Lying flat on his stomach, he held the crossbow in front of him, his bolts stacked at one side.
As he watched the scorched forest, he made out several figures approaching the ruined building. His dwarf-eyes enabled him to detect the enemies in the twilight.
Whatever the famulus Vot had done in his experiments, merging humans and animals, these creatures were horrific!
Slin saw a massive man’s body which bore an ox head; where flesh met fur a stream of pus was oozing out. A pair of arms had been exchanged for the paws of a bear; on another monster he saw the hind legs of a horse, and yet others had tentacles instead of arms.
Some of the experiments were even worse: Vot had given human limbs and heads to animals. In three cases the chimerae had extra heads.
The clothes of these former human beings hung in shreds; some of the monsters were completely naked, while others wore blood-soaked rags.
Slin was more deeply disturbed by the sight of these abused and mutilated bodies than he would have been by a host of Tion’s own monsters. Knowing that these had once been ordinary humans, not evil beasts, affected him greatly.
Even as he aimed at the heart of the first approaching enemy, his conscience told him he should spare the creatures and try to help cure them. Perhaps Coira can do something was his first thought. But it was no good. She would have to conserve her magic powers in order to prevail against Lot-Ionan.