Elvenborn

heads. Should he fling a levin-bolt at them? But if he did, what would the thing behind them do? And wouldn't their horses spook if he did? None of them were war-trained—

None of them are war-trained. Mules will run until there's no pursuit. The mules are tethered to the horses—and vice versa.

'Give your horses free rein, and hang on,' Kyrtian ordered,

feeling that sense of presence and danger at his back increas­ing, just a little. 'And duck your heads on the count of three.'

The alicorn-stallion pawed the ground and bared its fangs.

'One. Two. Three!'

On the count of three, Kyrtian fired a kind of levin-bolt— straight up over their heads. It exploded in a blinding flash and a violent boom that actually shattered the nearby limbs of trees. The horses, as Kyrtian had hoped, bolted—and so did the alicorns.

The horses shot forward in the direction they had been fac­ing, along the game trail. The alicorns, foe and prey forgotten, scattered in all directions, some off into the woods to either side of the trail, some turning and fleeing, and three, following the stallion, charging head-down towards them. At the last mo­ment, the alicorns veered a little to the left, and the hysterical horses to the right.

Kyrtian hung onto his mount with every bit of strength that arms and legs possessed, ducking low along its neck to keep from being knocked out of his saddle by low-hanging boughs. Hooves thundered all around him; even if the horses weren't sticking to the game-trail, they were at least staying together. Behind him he heard a roar, and the battle-scream of an al-icorn, but whatever was going on would have to remain a mystery.

His heart raced, his hands and legs ached, and he clenched his teeth; he couldn't see what was happening or where they were going. His mount's mane lashed his face until his eyes watered.

Then, sooner than he'd thought, he felt the horse beginning to slow, felt a weight tugging at the lead-rein fastened to the saddle. The horse didn't like it; he tried to surge forward. The mule wasn't having any.

Gradually, the mule won. The headlong gallop slowed to a canter, a trot, and finally, the horse's sides heaving and sweat pouring from his neck and shoulders, a walk. Kyrtian took up the slack in the reins and brought his mount to a stop, and looked around.

The rain had slackened again, and through the mizzle, he

counted his men scattered among the trees and quickly came up with the right number of riders and pack mules.

'Ancestors!' he breathed, in profoundest relief. The men said nothing; they simply guided their weary beasts back to­wards him until once again they formed a coherent group.

'Everyone all right?' he asked, as their horses stood with heads hanging, and flanks a-foam with sweat. Only the mules looked unperturbed.

'I've been worse,' replied Noet laconically. 'Gonna kill whoever designed this saddle with a pommel right where it don't belong, though.'

Noet did look a little pale, and in a certain amount of pain. Kyrtian winced, and hastily changed the subject. 'Does anyone know where we are?'

'We bolted in the general direction of where we wanted to go,' reported Shalvan. 'So the stream should still be that way—' he pointed with his chin, rather than his hand. 'We might as well get on with it, the horses aren't going to be the better for standing in the cold and rain, and they're going to need water after this.'

Once again they formed up, but this time not in single file since they weren't following a trail; Halean rode on the right flank and Resso on the left. And, not too much later, they came to the stream, much to everyone's relief.

There wasn't much time before nightfall, and with the over­cast skies and the forest all around, darkness would come soon. They quickly made camp, with Kyrtian tending to the fire-making chores. They pitched their three tents in a triangle, with the fire in the center. Once the tents were pitched and Resso took up the cooking, the rest gathered more firewood while Kyrtian ran a circle of mage-lights around the tents to stand be­tween them and whatever was in the woods or across the stream. As firewood was brought in, he stacked it near enough to the fire that it stood a decent chance of drying out some be­fore it was used.

The last thing he did was to run a string hung with small bells around the trunks of trees beyond the glow of the magelight at

about ankle-height. Anything that brushed against that string would set the bells jingling.

'Do you think we need to worry about something coming in from above?' he asked Noet, with a frown of concern.

Noet glanced up. 'Not through branches that thick,' he replied. 'I wouldn't think, anyway.'

Darkness, as Kyrtian had anticipated, came quickly. They tethered the horses—and tethered the mules to the horses— within the circle of magelight. The rain actually stopped once darkness fell, and as they gathered around their fire, Kyrtian felt their mutual fear of what lurked outside that magic circle draw­ing them all together despite rank and race.

Resso had managed to grill the day's catch tastily, with a minimum of burning, skewered on twigs over the fire. With that and journey-cake, and sweet water from the stream at their backs, they made a satisfying meal. They had thrown the bones into the fire and were ready to divide the night into watches, when a voice from the darkness saluted them.

'Hello the camp!'

Kyrtian knew that voice, and had been hoping to hear it. He stood up eagerly and waved in the direction from which it had come. The Elvenbane walked calmly into the magelight circle without tripping over the line of bells.

'Well met, Lord Kyrtian! Good idea, those bells,' she re­marked cheerfully, as she joined them beside the fire and of­fered Kyrtian her hand. Today she was wearing a pair of breeches and a tunic of something glittering and blue, covered with jewel-like scales, a wicked-looking knife strapped over it. Her abundant auburn hair had been bound back at the nape of her neck in a severe knot.

The men were staring at this unexpected visitor with their mouths dropping wide open.

'Gentlemen,' Kyrtian said solemnly, firmly repressing the urge to laugh at them as he accepted Lashana's hand. 'May I present to you Lashana? Also known as the Elvenbane—'

If he had set off another of those explosive levin-bolts in their midst he couldn't have gotten a more interesting reaction.

Noet practically choked, Hobie and Shalvan let out involuntary whoops of surprise, Resso leapt to his feet wearing an expres­sion of such utter shock that Kyrtian would not have been sur­prised to see him faint dead away in the next moment. Only Lynder managed to retain his composure. He got to his feet, gathered his young dignity about him, and took the hand that Kyrtian relinquished.

'My lady, this is an honor, and a privilege,' he replied, bow­ing over the hand before releasing it.

'Oh pish,' she said, blushing a little, but clearly pleased. 'Didn't Lord Kyrtian tell you that I'd be intercepting you out here?'

'Lord Kyrtian didn't know you would, he only hoped you would,' Kyrtian replied for himself. 'Won't you join us?'

How she had gotten there, how long she had been out in the woods watching them, he didn't know. And, truth to tell, it didn't matter. As his men took their seats again and Lashana settled easily among them, it was very clear why this young lady wizard had become a leader. She drew all eyes towards her in a way that had nothing to do with her looks or her sex.

'Well, here's what I can tell you,' she began. 'We—the Wizards—have got watchers on your