Rain began to fall in big drops. Lofotan ordered them all to stay behind with the baggage. Treskan and Artyrith erected the tent and picketed the pack team to some surrounding trees. Artyrith laid a fire in the entrance of the tent, angling the canvas flaps to protect the flames from rain and wind.
“Keep it burning and stay awake,” Lofotan warned. “Whatever attacked our lord may still be out there. Do you have a weapon?” Mathi and the scribe had their swords; that was all. “You’d be mauled to pieces by the time you got a chance to stick it with that.” He gave the scribe a standard spear.
“That will keep the beast a little further away,” he said.
The old warrior and the cook rode off just as the rain started lashing down in earnest. Mathi and Treskan huddled by the fire, the spear laid across his knees. The scribe got out his writing board and recorded the day’s events.
Mathi asked him what he wrote. He read his last lines aloud:
We have arrived at the Thon-Tanjan at last, but our leader is missing. From the evidence, it appears one of the beast-creatures has attacked Camaxilas, either killing him or carrying him off. It hardly seems possible, slain by an animal transformed to resemble an elf. It does not seem just that he should pass out of Silvanesti, only to perish in the wilderness like this …
Mathi looked up. Rain was coming down in torrents. The horses huddled together, starting noisily when lightning flashed or thunder boomed.
Still, Treskan read, if Camaxilas has survived the attack, where is he?
A fat drop of water landed squarely in the center of Treskan’s words. The ink ran, ruining the empty space below the scribe’s previous lines. He tried to blot it dry, putting his spear aside to better reach the page. At that exact moment, the creature that had stalked them all the way from Free Winds landed on all fours between them.
Treskan was speechless with terror. The sodden creature was a mass of matted, dripping fur. By firelight Mathi could see its dark eyes veined with red and a hint of fang protruding from its black lips. It squatted on its haunches, leaning forward on its front claws. Breath steamed from its pug nose.
Treskan’s hands closed around the spear shaft. His movement was too obvious. The creature bared a black lip, snarling.
“Don’t,” whispered Mathi. Another breath in the wrong direction, and the thing would tear the scribe to bits.
“What can we do?” said Treskan in the faintest voice.
“Listen to me,” she said to the monstrous visitor. “Begone now. Run away before the elves return and slay you. You have no reason to be here. What you want, who you want, is well watched.”
Treskan stared.
Mathi ignored him and went on. “He’s not an elf anyway.” To the scribe she said, “Hold out your hand.”
“What?”
“Hold out your hand to him. Let him smell you!”
“Are you insane?”
“Do it or die!”
Trembling, Treskan put out his left hand. He never got it closer than half an arm’s length, but the black nostrils flexed deeply. Slowly the creature uncoiled itself, withdrawing from Treskan’s imminent death.
“Go now. Seek out the others. They will tell you what is happening. Do you understand? Your being here violates our covenant with the Creator. Go!”
An arrow whizzed out of the darkness and struck the ground, quivering, by Mathi’s right knee. The creature sprang away, snarling. Mathi snapped to one side, and Treskan rolled the other way. She saw the creature running away into the stormy night. A spear flew in a heavy arc and hit the ground behind the fleeing beast, not even tangling its feet. In a moment it was gone, though a silent blink of lightning highlighted it as it loped off into the storm.
Artyrith and Lofotan appeared.
“Which way did it go?” shouted the cook.
Shaken, Mathi pointed in the true direction. “There! Next time don’t miss, my lord!”
“I didn’t miss. I was only trying to drive him off. If I hit him, he might have torn you limb from limb.” Lofotan rode off after the creature.
“Any sign of the general?” said Treskan.
“None.” Artyrith was grim. He took a long swig of nectar. “We couldn’t find a trace! We did locate the spot the creature jumped on his horse, but there was no sign our lord fell off or was carried away!”
Crash! Thunder put emphasis to the cook’s words.
“What shall we do?”
“It’s pointless to hunt in a storm,” Artyrith said. “We can’t see, and we can’t smell anything but rain!”
“What’s Lofotan doing, then?”
The cook was almost respectful. “He won’t give up. He’ll ride through the storm until he finds Balif or kills the beast-maybe both.” He sighed wearily. “I had better join him. He’ll never let me hear the end of it if I don’t!”
Alone again, Mathi and Treskan sat together by the struggling fire. Much had been revealed between them in the brief, tense moments when they faced the beast.
“You are not an elf,” he said after a long silence.
“Neither are you. Why are you here?”
“I cannot say. You must trust that my presence is totally benign. I mean no harm to you, the general, or anyone. I am a scholar on a mission of learning,” said Treskan. When Mathi did not reply in kind, he said, “And you? You are one of those beast creatures.” Still she said nothing. “More presentable, more civilized, I see, but still one of them.”
“Civilized? Civilized?” She laughed bitterly. In her dark mirth, Mathi leaned forward quite far. The odd necklace Rufe had left on her swung free of her rain-soaked gown.
“My talisman!”
Treskan’s hand darted out to snatch the little artifact. Faster by far, Mathi caught his wrist first.
“Yours? How do I know that?”
“I brought it with me from my homeland. I must have it back!”
Mathi closed her free hand around it. “The little man, Rufe, took it from you and gave it to me. I don’t know why.” She pulled the string over her head and gave the talisman to Treskan. He looked vastly relieved to have it back.
“Is it magic?”
“You could say that. It’s worth more than my life.”
She caught his hand holding the talisman in both of hers. “Then swear to me on your precious artifact you will not reveal me to the others. I will swear the same for you.”
Treskan hesitated only briefly. He clasped his free hand around hers.
The storm blew itself out after midnight. Stars winked in one by one until their usual millions were displayed. The scribe and the orphan girl passed the night awake, saying little, wondering who would return to them-Lofotan, Artyrith, Balif, or the indestructible beast that was haunting their steps.
CHAPTER 11
The first ones to arrive at the soaked and misshapen tent were the kender. They came up from the ford in no certain order, no definite formation. There were more than two dozen of them, bare headed and empty-handed. Aside from the fact they were more than a hundred miles from any sizable town, the little people looked as if they were out for a morning stroll, not a strenuous migration.
They found Treskan and Mathi huddled together by the smoldering remnants of their campfire. The first ones walked by, eyeing the pair curiously. Some waved a greeting and kept walking. Twenty passed before the first stopped to speak.
“Lousy night, eh?” It was Rufe.
Mathi blinked red-rimmed eyes at the apparition. “How can you be here?” she mumbled.
“I go where my feet and my fate take me,” he replied cheerfully. Hunkering down in the muddy grass, he poked at the dead fire. “Truth is, the Longwalker asked me to look after you. He said you were in trouble.”