will not kill men traversing the forest road; any men. And since the actual route has not yet been established, those men following us will eventually make it to Dyntalla.”
“Or into an ogre’s maw,” Matty chimed in.
“With them comes my slave chains,” Vanx said somberly. “Or worse.”
“How far behind us are they?” Trevin asked.
“Less than a day,” Quazar grumbled. “And they are four men, with four good horses. We are six with two tired haulkattens. They will catch us out on the plains between the forest and city wall.” He grimaced. “If they don’t overtake us before we get out of the forest.”
“We’ll have to travel at night, and only stop long enough to rest the animals,” said Vanx.
“Not all of us can see in the dark, Vanxy,” Matty said from behind him. “I can barely see in the light, but I have grown used to not having chains on my ankles, so I’m willing to keep moving.”
“The wizard can make light,” Vanx reminded them. “And once we’re out of the forest, these kattens can move much, much faster than they can in the trees.”
“That’s true,” Trevin agreed. “But we’ll get nowhere sitting here arguing the matter.”
With that they resumed course. When the sun was low enough that the world under the thick canopy became dim, Quazar called forth a melon-sized orb of light and caused it to hover a few feet over his head. It was harsh, bright illumination that threw long eerie shadows away from their passage.
When the moon was high in the sky they stopped to feed and rest themselves and the animals. The break was a short one. By dawn, both Matty and Darbon were slouched in the saddle against each other and leaning heavily against Vanx’s back. He didn’t mind so much. Matty’s breasts were soft and their constant shifting and jiggling kept him awake.
Vanx hadn’t been sure what to expect on his vision quest, but he was certain that this sort of adventure wasn’t it. Singing his songs in fire-lit taverns was what he loved. Exploring different places while enjoying the humor and spirit of those he entertained, the fawning women, and the free tankards of the good ale, now that’s what he was about. The only reason he’d been in Highlake was because of the huge fish that swam in the waters there. He still wanted to see the icefalls at the edge of the Bitter Lands. He wanted to hunt the spike-horned shagswine, whose delicious meat supposedly caused one to have grand visions of the future. He wanted to lay his eyes on the dark, needle-like spire that jutted up out of the sea for no apparent reason, and he wanted to visit the distant land of Harthgar, from where the humans came. There were supposedly castle cities as big as the entire island of Zyth, dozens of them. But still, the destination he’d always contemplated, the place that filled his youthful dreams, was the one place he’d never truthfully expected to go.
Dragon’s Isle was infested with its namesake. Dragons were beyond dangerous. He’d seen one once, a smaller wyrm that had flown across the sea looking for a place to roost. It chose a cavern in the mountainous region of Zyth and tried to settle there. It fed on the herds and terrorized villagers until the council of elders decided that it had to go. No matter how hard they tried to repel the beast with magic, it wouldn’t leave. Finally, the creature was killed.
Vanx had seen the corpse laid out in the field where it died. He’d walked the twenty-two pace length of it, from head to tail. He remembered it clearly.
To kill the dragon they had poisoned a fat sheep and staked it out. The young, red-scaled wyrm had taken the tainted offering and later fell from the sky. Vanx was around thirty summers old then. It was the day after he’d looked at those sparking scales and teeth as big as his forearms that he’d decided to scratch Dragon’s Isle from his list of places to explore. The prospect of going there now — if he survived the Wildwood and if the Duke of Highlake’s men didn’t catch and kill him — didn’t seem as daunting. Gallarael was in her present position because she was helping him. He wasn’t about to forget that.
They were about to stop again when Vanx caught the scent of magic in the air. The sun was high in the sky and Quazar had long since extinguished his magical light. The old man was barely awake in his saddle and the source of the static sensation was too distant to have come from him. What struck Vanx as odd was that the source of the magic was somewhere ahead of them, not behind.
“Come,” Vanx said loudly, reaching over and giving Trevin a smack on the shoulder before he urged the old haulkatten past the younger one. “Follow me, and get yourselves ready for a fight.”
“What is it?” Trevin asked.
“I’m not sure, but I sense there may be trouble ahead.”
“If it’s trouble, why don’t we go around it?” Matty yawned but reached up and pulled Vanx’s dagger from his belt. This time he noticed her taking it.
“We might have to do that,” Vanx answered. “But I want the wizard to get close enough to see if he can figure out what magic I am sensing.”
“No need,” Quazar said with a bit of alarm in his voice. Vanx stopped his mount and looked back at them. “It’s magic all right; good clean magic. Like we of the Order use.” He looked back over his shoulder at Gallarael, who was slumped between him and Trevin, and frowned. “I think you should get close enough to see what it is. Those are things I can’t divine. It might be Garner’s rescue party. Then again, it might just be more trouble. We can follow at a safe distance.”
“Matty should trade places with me then,” Trevin said as he slid off the young haulkatten. “She can keep hold of Gal.”
The two switched places and Vanx urged the old haulkatten up ahead of Quazar and the two women. He felt certain they were heading for something bad. He wished he, Trevin, and Darbon were on the younger mount instead of Amden’s old beast. At least he knew the young katten would defend Matty if the old man hid in his magical shell again.
“Don’t put an arrow in my back by mistake,” Vanx jested as they slowly crept ahead.
“It might be a better fate than what awaits you in Dyntalla,” Trevin replied.
Darbon chuckled. The tension of the moment was plain in his laugh. “Being shafted in the back is a far better end than itching to death from being clawed. I can’t even reach where it’s worst.”
“Maybe so,” Vanx agreed. They’d gone far enough that the others were probably out of hailing distance. Vanx still sensed the crackly static of the magic, but he couldn’t see or hear anything other than the forest itself. Then the old haulkatten hesitated beneath him. The animal flicked its ears and rotated them forward. It could hear something.
Inching the animal ahead, Vanx thought he heard a shout and the ring of steel on steel. He figured the latter sound as improbable as a flying boar. Who would be sword fighting in the Wildwood? Another shout, from a different voice, then the low, growling battle rumble of an ogre came to his ears.
The haulkatten shuddered beneath them. It was growing nervous.
“What is it?” Trevin asked.
“There’s a battle ahead,” Vanx hissed in a harsh whisper. “Swordsmen and ogres, I think. A lot of them.”
He pressed the haulkatten until it grew so skittish that he thought it might bolt.
Spying a towering pine tree, Vanx handed the reins back to Trevin and slid off of the beast.
“I’m going to climb up and take a look,” he whispered before scaling the tree as quickly as a startled lizard. He looked down to see Trevin and Darbon gaping up at him. No human could ever hope to climb as well.
Vanx couldn’t believe what was happening. He could see the edge of the Wildwood, and the flat, slightly rolling plain beyond the trees. The transition from forest to plain wasn’t a constant. Copses and glades broke off from the main wooded area in a random fading pattern. In one of those open glades, a group of men flying the Parydon banner were engaged in a heated battle with a horde of blood-lusting ogres. The ogres had the upper hand and the men desperately needed help.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
