"It's turning into a pretty night to get killed," she murmured. "Hurlandrun can't hold endless dweomercats; what would they all eat?"
"Nirmathi," The Masked told her. "And their horses and mules and hunting dogs, too."
She glanced back at cat bodies being flung against trees by seemingly tireless tentacles. "Not for much longer. The strength of our unwanted furry escort must be dwindling."
Her partner nodded. "We've got to keep hurrying. The dweomercats hampering Voyvik-if it is still Voyvik, and not Mahalagris-will be gone long before morning, at this rate. He'll be right behind us."
"Any other cheerful warnings?" Tantaerra asked bitterly. "I'd love to hear them, while I still can!"
The Masked winced, and shook his head.
Something howled, several hills away to the south, and she resisted the urge to howl back. Calling more guests to the dance would almost certainly be heaping folly atop stupidity.
Not that she'd never done that before.
The moonlight brightened all around them, as they hastened on.
The hand she didn't have started to throb painfully.
Instead of howling, Tantaerra growled instead.
∗ ∗ ∗
They were still stumbling along wearily when the sun rose, its cheerful brightness mocking. They were still in the heart of trackless forest, too.
Tantaerra's stump had taken to aching like fire. She shook it wildly for the hundredth time or so, trying to drive the pain down.
"How are you …" Her masked partner's question trailed off, then picked up again determinedly. "…bearing up?"
"I'll manage," she snarled. "Any bright ideas for not losing our way in these woods?"
Tarram gave her a look. 'I've known how to avoid drifting in a circle since I was a very young lad-and so long as we don't do that, the Inkwater does flow all the way between the two lands. We can't help but blunder into it eventually. Probably just after Nirmathi arrows start heading at us."
"Heed me, my overclever friend," Tantaerra said, a little testily. "That's just what will happen if we end up taking too close a route back across Nirmathas to the one we used to get to the tomb. If we run into any of the same Nirmathi, they'll know the tale we told them about why we came here was false-and will treat us accordingly."
"So we veer south, toward those peaks, right now." The Masked pointed. "I have been thinking about this, as we've walked. And walked. And-"
"Walked," Tantaerra sighed. "So what other clever thoughts did you have?"
"Well …dweomercats can be eaten, and all the fighting this side of the border will have made large meat on the hoof unobtainable by Nirmathi, and limited to what dried supplies they can carry in for the Molthuni."
"So we're liable to get trampled by the hungry warriors of both sides, rushing to take down dweomercats for their cooking-fires?"
The Masked nodded.
He was still nodding when the first spear came out of the trees.
∗ ∗ ∗
"May Molthune triumph!" Tarram shouted hastily, seeing the armor on the men hurrying over a ridge. Molthuni warriors, with spears in their hands and puzzled frowns on their faces.
"No tricks, Nirmathi!" one of them called, leading a charge of leveled spears as well as a charge can be led through a thick stand of trees, over ground uneven with old and gnarled roots. "Surrender or die!"
"Hah!" said another soldier. "Make that surrender and die!"
"Who's your commander?" Tarram barked. "And what's this nonsense with spears? Did someone get hungry enough to eat all the crossbows?"
"No, Delbran ordered-urrk!" Whatever that spearman had been going to say ended abruptly when the Molthuni beside him drove an ungentle elbow into the man's gut, adding a snarl of, "Shut it!"
The other spearmen were scrambling to bar his and Tantaerra's way with a line of menacing spear points.
"Who are you?" one demanded.
"We're Lord Investigators of Molthune," Tarram told him sternly.
"What? A halfling Lord Investigator? Try again, jester!"
"I'm in disguise," Tantaerra Loroeva Klazra told him in dignified tones, lifting her chin. "And will accept your apology, soldier. Here or on trial for treason in Canorate."
The answer she got to that was a snort.
"You're Nirmathi, and you'll be dead Nirmathi very soon if you don't tell us straight what we want to know."
"Delbran ordered you not to waste any more crossbow bolts, yes?" Tarram asked crisply, walking straight toward the spears. If they tried to stick him, he'd blast them with the gauntlet. Until then, he'd heard enough Molthuni officers snapping orders to imitate one that soldiers just might respect. "Running low?"
"We're not to talk about it," the spearman who'd let slip Delbran's name said sullenly, "so-"
"So how'd you like lots of ready meat running right onto your spears?" Tarram pointed over his shoulder with the thumb of his non-gauntleted hand. "We were sent out foraging, and we're leading a herd of dweomercats to every stewpot of Molthune!"
"Dweomercats? The cats from the fairy tales, that eat magic?"
"They're no fireside tale, soldier," The Masked replied. "They're real, and right behind us."
"And you can eat them?"
"'Course you can eat them," another spearman said scornfully. "You can eat any sort of cat. Why, my brother-"
"Will you all shut it?" the first spearman bellowed. "I'm trying to interrogate prisoners here, and-"
"Prisoners?" Tantaerra asked swiftly, peering all around. "What prisoners?"
Whatever reply he was going to snarl died unsaid as the man's mouth dropped open in astonishment. Dweomercats were loping through the trees, scores of them, yellow eyes baleful.
"Run!" one Molthuni bawled, as he spun and heeded his own command. "Run!"
"Glorusk, you come back here! Stand! Stand and fight!"
"Stand and stick yourself some dinner!" another soldier shouted, trotting forward to lunge with his spear.
An instant later, he was bowled over by the squalling, writhing, clawing-and dying-dweomercat who'd tried to swallow it. They crashed to the ground together, thrashing about in dead leaves and thorn vines, and then all the Molthuni were either running or plying their spears in alarm and eager hunger-with the dweomercats in among them like tigers. The cats were more interested in getting past to reach Tarram and his halfling partner than they were in fighting Molthuni who thrust spears at them, but proved quite willing to oblige anyone who jabbed at them.
Tarram and Tantaerra sprinted after the fleeing Glorusk, heading for those distant peaks and-as they saw more Molthuni coming out of the trees-pointing back behind them and shouting enthusiastically, "Herd of beasts! Food for tonight! Roast cat!"
Many soldiers gave them frowns, obviously puzzled about who they were-but the flood of dweomercats snatched away the attention of every one of them.
Every one, that is, save Glorusk. When he ran out of breath and turned to fight, wild-eyed, Tarram caught hold of his spear and jerked him into a helpless stumble forward-and Tantaerra ran in under his feet and sent him toppling face-first into a tree.
They left him sliding down it, unconscious or stunned, and hastened on. Dozens of dweomercats followed, but seemingly just as many remained embroiled in a screaming, spitting, clawing battle. It was hard to tell who was winning, as the soldiers' weapons seemed to have surprisingly little effect against the cats' sleek fur.
"How are there so many, anyway?" Tantaerra panted. "I've never seen even one before this, and now there's a horde!"