"They seek out magic," The Masked replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if this is every one within a hundred miles. Maybe they're even breeding-you can see how small most of them are. I suspect they're still kittens."
"Kittens!" Tantaerra scoffed, watching in fascinated horror as several soldiers went down, the blue fur of their attackers stained dark with Molthuni blood. She turned away.
Behind them, the din faded swiftly into the green and leafy distances, and Tarram and his partner fell back into trudging along.
Death came for everyone soon enough that there was no need to hurry to find it.
∗ ∗ ∗
It seemed Desna was still smiling on Tarram and Tantaerra when they ran into their next Molthuni, around midday.
The soldiers that greeted them were a proper army this time, but thankfully also low on bolts, and using spears instead-in hand rather than thrown.
As the soldiers of the first watch post rushed through the trees at them, spears outthrust, Tarram gave them his best disapproving glower and ordered, in precise mimicry of a Molthuni commander, "Stop, men of Molthune, and down arms-in the name of the General Lords! Who commands here? Alaskor? I didn't think to meet with any of my countrymen until I was much closer to the Inkwater!"
Jaws were dropping, spear points wavering.
"Well?" Tarram pressed.
Luraumadar, his mask commented approvingly, in the depths of his mind.
"Uh-ah-who are you?" one of the Molthuni warriors asked uncertainly.
"Lord Investigator Osturr, of Canorate," Tarram said flatly. "I report directly to the General Lords. This lady personage with me is an envoy from a distant land who was waylaid by foul Nirmathi, and I am under orders to get her safely to Canorate as soon as possible. I ask again: who commands here?"
Soldiers exchanged doubtful stares with each other.
Tarram stepped past a spear point, loomed up over its wielder, and remarked softly, "Don't make me ask a third time, man. The dweomercats chasing us are hungry, and more than eager to feed."
"What's that mask thing you're wearing?"
"Haven't met any Lord Investigators before, have you?"
"Uh …no. Lord. Sir. Uh, sir."
"Escort us to the river," Tarram ordered crisply, "by the fastest route that will take us to where we can board a boat, and return to Molthune."
"Uh, Lord, the river's almost a day's march on from here, and we've orders to-"
"You do," Tarram agreed. "You have orders from me. I distinctly heard myself give them, mere moments ago, and I know you all heard me. So let's have no delay or disobedience. Just lead the way."
"And if we don't?" the most distant spearman asked challengingly.
Tarram used the Fearsome Gauntlet's force punch on him, slamming it into his throat and leaving the man on his knees, clutching at his nigh-crushed throat and strangling for air.
"Don't make me use the full wrath Molthune has vested in me on you," he told the suffering heap almost sadly. "I have to report personally to one of the General Lords when I do that, and I hate having to make those reports. Enough that I'm always tempted to leave no survivors. So there'll be no witnesses."
"I increasingly admire you men of Molthune," Tantaerra piped up, looking at her partner. "So decisive. So direct. My country will be pleased to learn this of you. I am eager to present myself in Canorate."
"Molthune will be pleased to welcome you there," Tarram told her solemnly. "Now, if you faithful warriors will just lead the way?"
One spearman reached a decision. Bowing his head, he pointed the way through the trees with his spear and said, "Follow me."
Tarram stepped forward as confidently as if he were a king and the Molthuni all around him fawning, toadying subjects. Taking care not to roll her eyes, Tantaerra followed.
They didn't need to confer with each other to know they were being taken to the local Molthuni commander, not to the river. The soldiers fell in all around them.
Tarram caught sight of a crossbow slung across one man's shoulders. "How long ago was the order given to use bows only for battle?"
"I haven't marked the days," that soldier replied grudgingly. "Sir."
"One would think," Tantaerra remarked brightly, "that bowmen could more easily fill cooking pots. All these trees must hamper even the best spear cast."
None of the Molthuni replied until Tarram gave the nearest one a stern glare.
Whereupon that spearman said sullenly, "That's so. Yet our orders are that crossbows are to be used in desperate moments of battle, only."
They crested a heavily wooded ridge, and two strides down its far side were challenged by the half-hidden soldiers of another watch post.
"Guests to see Commander Elthen," one of the spearmen said tersely.
"Guests," not "prisoners." Good.
Their escort grew by a few warriors, and trudged on along a game track, across a boggy valley and up over another ridge beyond. There they were challenged again, and passed on down a slope choked with ancient, leaning trees, out into a clearing where the midday sun shone down brightly on some rather battered-looking tents, a cooking pit covered by a row of tripods holding up simmer-cauldrons, and a lot of stern and watchful Molthuni soldiers in better armor than the leathers of the spearmen.
A grim-looking officer with long grizzled sideburns and weary eyes, when informed that these two strangers were to see the commander, ordered Tarram and his halfling partner to divest themselves of all weapons.
"I am a Lord Investigator of Molthune," Tarram informed the man calmly. "I give orders, not take them. Until Nirmathas falls to us, this is enemy soil where we are at war, and my weapons ride where they are. My companion is an envoy from another country, and is to be treated as such. You would not order one of the General Lords nor the Imperial Governor to surrender his weapons, and you will not order her to do so."
The officer drew himself up. "Prisoner, you are in no position to be making claims or giving orders-"
Tarram stepped around him. "You are relieved of your rank and command."
Striding on, he addressed the next nearest Molthuni warrior in the camp. "Which tent is Elthen's? Our mission must not be delayed."
"I-"
The man was still hesitating when a tent flap nearby was thrust aside and a scar-faced man strode out and up to Tarram.
"Elthen," he identified himself flatly. "And you are…?"
"In some haste," Tarram replied. "I am a Lord Investigator of Molthune, escorting an outland envoy to Canorate. We require safe transport across the Inkwater, as swiftly as it can be provided."
The commander regarded Tarram in stone-faced silence for a moment or two, and then asked calmly, "Would that be the Fearsome Gauntlet you're wearing?"
Tarram smiled tightly. "Krzonstal Telcanor talks too much. As usual."
A trace of a smile rose very briefly onto Elthen's face. "So this envoy is not the only valuable you're escorting to Molthune."
Tarram nodded.
Commander Elthen turned to catch the eye of a man across the camp, waved him over, and upon his arrival announced, "This is Hardreth, my best scout. He and nine soldiers will conduct you both to Arlarn Straeble."
Tarram raised both eyebrows in a silent question, and the commander added, "The General Lords sent Straeble to the Inkshore camp to observe and report back on our war effort in Nirmathas. As I am under orders to inform him of anything unusual that comes to my attention, to him you must go. Gauntlet and all."
"Sir," Hardreth said briskly, bowing his head. "Shall I-"
He broke off as a dweomercat almost bowled him over. A furry flood of them burst into the camp, rushing to surround Tarram and swarm up his body to the gauntlet he was hastily holding high.