Winds Of Fate

range. Never once did any of those she hit utter a single sound.

:Good work,: the Companion said, without slowing. :That should buy us some time.:

:Assuming something else doesn't take their place, or join them,: the sword pointed out grimly. :I hate to say this, but I do sense things stirring; energies being disturbed, and some kind of communication going on that I can't read. I'm afraid we're going to have something else on our trail before long.: She didn't say what she was thinking; it wasn't as if Need had willfully called these things up. 'Will we have a chance to get up on that path first?'

'I think we'll make it up to the top. But there's more trouble up there. It's at the border of a bad area, and it has its own energies that are reacting to the changes elsewhere. I think you should know that disturbance brings predators and scavengers alike.' Well, that was no more than the law of nature. She sheathed the bow again and looked back down their trail. There was nothing immediately in sight.

But there was a dark golden clot of something on the horizon, something tall enough to be visible above the grass, and it was coming closer.

She rather doubted it was a herd of Shin'a'in goats.

The scent of water was stronger; she turned to face forward. The belt of greenery was near enough now to make out individual trees and bushes, and the waterfall dashed down the side of the cliff with a careless gaiety she wished she shared.

She knew what awaited them and held Gwena back a little to let Skif shoot ahead of her. Cymry's headlong pace slowed as she met the slippery rocks of the trail. Gwena's shoulders bunched beneath Elspeth's knees as she prepared to make the climb.

The scramble up the trail was purest nightmare. If it had not been that the Companions were far more surefooted than the Heralds were, and far, far faster even on footing this treacherous, she would have stopped to dismount. As it was, she clung to the saddle with legs and both hands, drenched with water spray and her own sweat of fear. If she dared, she would have closed her eyes. Gwena skidded and slipped on the spray-slick rocks; she went to her knees at least once for every switchback, and there seemed to be hundreds of those. Every time Gwena lurched sideways, Elspeth lurched with her-further unbalancing the Companion and hindering her recovery. The only good thing was that the slower pace enabled Gwena to catch her breath again.

Ahead, Cymry and Skif were in no better shape. That presented a second danger, that they might lose their balance and careen into Gwena and Elspeth, sending all four of them to their deaths.

Gwena might have read her mind; the Companion stopped for a moment, sides heaving, to let Cymry put a little more distance between them. She stood with her head hanging, breathing deeply, extracting everything she could from the brief rest.

Elspeth used the respite to peer through the spray, down to the foot of the trail.

The entire trail was visible from this vantage point, and there was nothing on it except them. Yet. But peering up at her-at least, she presumed they were peering up at her-were several creatures of a darkgold color that would have blended imperceptibly into the grasslands.

They stood out now, only because of the brilliant green of the vegetation below the waterfall. moving around them were some dark-brown slender beasts, whose fluid movements told her that the pack that had pursued them had recovered from the loss of its leader. In fact, there seemed to be more of them.

I think I know what that blot on the horizon was now. I wonder where the other'imnds ' came from, though...And mingling with those creatures was something else; black, small animals that hopped rather than walked.

She guessed from their behavior that there was some kind of consultation going on. The black creatures seemed to be the ones in charge, or conveying some kind of orders. As she watched, the thin creatures arrayed themselves below the cliff, providing a kind of rear guard. The golden-brown forms lined up in an orderly fashion, and started up the path with a sinister purposefulness. And the black dots sprouted wings

and rose into the air.

Crows- she realized. Then, as they drew nearer-Dearest gods-they're so big!

They were heading straight for the Heralds. And they could do a great deal of damage with those long, sharp bills, those fierce claws.

Without being prompted by the sword, she pulled her bow again, hoping that dampness hadn't gotten to the string. She nocked and sighted, and released; and repeated the action, filling the air below her with half a dozen arrows.

Only three reached their mark, and one of those was by accident, as a crow flew into the path of one of the arrows while trying to avoid another. Of those three, one was only a wound; it passed through the nearest crow's wing, and the bird spiraled down to the earth, cawing its pain, and keeping itself aloft with frantic flaps of its good wing.