And then, at last, they were back at the river. It was wider now, and the water gleamed as it rippled over a rocky bed. Damien started forward toward it, meaning to gather some river water for their dinner, but Tarrant’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“What is it?”
“The pattern of this region. Think about it. One species takes root, then overbreeds and destroys the environment. So another is introduced which establishes balance for a while, until it, too, overbreeds. And then another. And another.”
It took him a minute to realize what the Hunter was driving at. “You think someone evolved those life-forms?”
“Nature is infinitely complex, Reverend Vryce. Who knows that better than I? A natural ecosystem is a delicately balanced creation, with all sorts of checks and balances that are continuously evolving in tandem. Nothing like this. The simplicity of it, and the waste . . . I sense a human hand behind it. Very inexperienced, limited in understanding, perhaps overwhelmed by its failure to control. Because in order to establish a new species properly, you have to make sure it comes equipped with counterspecies: predators, parasites, diseases, degraders. That wasn’t done here. Such power, without understanding the consequences of applying it. No wonder there was such destruction.”
“Each life-form had its own territory,” Hesseth pointed out.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps instead each life-form was created at some central point, and then allowed to spread. The vines first, and then the animals that fed on them. Predators for them, when they were out of control. And again. Each species spreading out from that central point, like waves across the region. So that as we travel—”
“We’re heading toward that center,” Damien said suddenly.
The Hunter nodded. “That, and we’re due for the next creation. The last was rodents, and large ones. Anything feeding on them would also be a threat to humankind, and thus to their creators.”
“Insects could kill them off,” Hesseth offered. “Or even diseases. Those wouldn’t have to endanger humans.”
“Correct. And I would have used the latter, if this were my game. But whoever’s playing God with this ecosystem lacks that kind of subtlety. So what would be a safe killer, from our sorcerer’s point of view? Another small creature? Too inefficient. Something large? Too dangerous. Perhaps something large but rooted down, so that it isn’t free to roam. Then it could be avoided. But you can’t just scatter these killers at random, can you? The animals would learn to avoid them. They would have to be in hiding, and concentrated some place where all the animals would have to go . . .”
He studied the ground for a moment, then bent down and picked up a rock. It was flat, Damien noted, very thin, and about the size of his hand. With a flick of his wrist he launched it out toward the water. It hit the surface hard near the shore and then skipped several times, and was swallowed by the fog before they could see it sink.
“Very neat,” Damien said. “But I don’t see how—”
The water erupted. From beneath, the spot where the stone first struck the surface something burst upward in a spurt of foam. It was green, and glistening, and it whipped about wildly in search of the cause of the commotion. Damien saw green leaves and slender tendrils, with something sharp and white at their center. Hungry. God. He could feel the hunger, could feel it freezing his limbs, making him unable to fight, unable to struggle . . .
He shook his head violently and forced himself to turn away. It wasn’t easy. After a moment the noise subsided. After another moment the feeling of helplessness did also. He turned back to the water, saw nothing but smooth ripples on its surface.
“Good God,” he whispered. “What was that?”
“Our sorcerer’s last gambit, I assume. What will happen when this one goes out of control is anyone’s guess. Fortunately, the next creation will probably be a river creature also. It should mean easier traveling for a while.”
“If you’re right,” Hesseth said, “if this is all the work of humans . . . then how far are we from them? Can you guess that?”
“Pretty close, I would imagine. How many more steps in the food chain ladder are possible before something decides it likes the taste of human flesh? I think we should be very careful from now on,” he warned. “These things are getting larger each time, and far more dangerous. In the end it may not be the humans here who are the greatest threat, but these creations.”
“You still can’t Know anything about the humans here?” Damien asked.
The Hunter turned cold eyes on him. “I can’t. I’ve tried. It’s as if they disappeared.”
“Or were eaten?” Hesseth offered.
“I’d have sensed that,” he responded shortly.
Be careful. That was what Damien thought as they rode along the shoreline and looked for a place to camp. Be careful. As if they hadn’t been before. As if the Hunter had to tell them a thing like that.
He’s worried, he thought. Possibly even frightened. Has anyone ever defied his power before, in quite this way?
And if he’s frightened . . . where the hell does that leave us?
They searched for a safer campsite along the rocky shore.
“Damien. Damien. Get up.”
The whisper invaded his dreams. It took him a minute to realize whose it was, and why it sounded so urgent.
“Damien. Wake up. Please.”
Then he understood. The dream shattered into a thousand fragments. Sleep was gone in an instant.
“What is it?” he croaked, sitting up. His throat was dry. “What?”
He saw that Hesseth was armed. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. Her ears were flattened against her head and her fur was bristling. “I can smell them.”
As he quickly got to his feet, he looked for cover, someplace safe to shoot from. But they had chosen this spot because it was out of the forest but far enough from the river, and not for its martial features. He damned himself—and Tarrant—for that shortsightedness.
“Where?” he whispered.
She nodded toward the south. And hesitated.
“Many,” she breathed at last.
Damn. Damn. Damn. He chose an outcropping behind them which offered limited cover. No way to hide the horses. No time to obliterate the camp. He motioned for her to crouch down beside him, behind the low ridge.
He could hear them now. Rustling. Voices. An odd mixture of caution and carelessness, low voices and heavy footfall. And damn, there were a lot of them. You couldn’t make that kind of noise with only a handful.
They came closer, moving from up the south, and then their direction shifted. West. That meant they were encircling the camp. The voices were silent now, wary of being heard by their quarry.
So they knew where the camp was, and most likely knew what they were hunting. Damn. In another few minutes he and Hesseth would be surrounded, and then there would be no way out but through the river. Could they sneak away quickly enough, going far enough north that they escaped the deadly circle . . . but no, that meant leaving the horses behind along with all their supplies. And there was no way they could travel all the miles they had to with neither mounts nor gear.
He felt desperation grab hold of him—that, and a cold calculation, as he realized where their only chance lay. He reached out for Hesseth, met her eyes, nodded toward the horses. We grab them, his expression said, and run for it. North. They could stay by the river—but not too close—where the terrain would allow a horse to gallop, and maybe they could just break out of this. They’d make noise all right, lots of it, but no human feet could outrun a horse. It was a long shot, to be sure but he figured it was the only chance they had.