his breath, listening beyond the hideous laughter for sounds that Javin was conscious.
One more limb down, and he would be able to throw the spear…
In the darkest hours of the night, Cheyne finally found sleep, but no peace. The bad dreams of his youth came back, this time with an intensity and sharpness he had not experienced since the months directly after Javin had brought him home for the first time. Over and over again, he saw the figure with the clawed hand drop down onto him, ready to devour him, and the shape of the totem's glyph flashed in front of his eyes like a bright beacon.
Then the dream shifted to a terrifying new image. He saw Javin, his hand awash in flames, the fire about to consume his body, fighting dark shapes in the moonlight. The three sisters tilted overhead, and a hundred gleaming red eyes burned in the darkness, circling and closing on Javin.
Cheyne awoke, his lungs strained with unvoiced agony. He sat up and peered around the lodge, slowly remembering where he was. Clarta lay still and lovely in the darkness, moonlight glowing on her skin as it shone down through the lodge's skylight. But Cheyne thought he was still dreaming when, out of the shadows of the smoky lodge, stepped a tall elf, his face divided by a long scar, a silver chain for his belt and a brooch carved with the glyphs of the Sarrazan potters upon his breast.
'You!' Cheyne shouted. 'Who are you? Have you been following us, too?'
'Who's there?' said Wiggulf sleepily from the far side of the hall.
The tall elf held up his hand, long thin fingers pale in the low firelight. 'Forgive me, Riverking, for the intrusion. But I have urgent business with your guests and have just come from the Treefather with a message for the Argivan.'
'Naruq? Is that you? You are always welcome here. But why do you come under the cloak of secrecy?' said Wiggulf, ambling over, dragging his covers, his round face troubled.
'There is one who seeks this man's life.' Naruq pointed to Cheyne. 'And his killer has been watching me for a very long time. I have risked enough by coming here, by showing myself in Sumifa before. I could make no direct contact.'
Cheyne threw off his blanket and stood up, hand on his dagger. 'So you were in Sumifa. I know Riolla's henchman is spoiling for my head. That's no secret.'
'It's not the assassin Saelin you need consider. Although that fight outside Riolla's shop was a little too close for my liking. You handled yourself well, though. And you make friends fast, it seems.'
'Who is the Treefather?' said Cheyne.
Wiggulf pulled at his bushy beard. 'He's the Sarrazan elder. The Ancient. He never leaves the forest. No one knows how old he really is, but there are rumors that he was around at the time of the Wandering. If anyone would know what your totem says, he would.'
'And he does. He has been expecting you since the lost caravan. He will answer all your questions. Time is of little consequence to the Treefather, but not to you. The curtain will part for us only for another hour.'
If the elf had pierced him through the heart with his own knife, Cheyne could not have been more surprised. It was the answer to his every prayer. He had come so far on sheer hope. And to find the answer to his greatest need, he had only to go now, this minute, with Naruq.
And leave Javin to his death. The dream had followed him into consciousness. With every passing second, Cheyne's conviction of favin's predicament grew even more certain.
'Naruq, I can't go with you.'
Claria looked at him through sleepy, unbelieving eyes. 'Cheyne, why not? This is what you have come all this way for,' she said groggily.
'Because Javin's in danger somewhere behind us.' He crawled out from under the thick covers and found his boots. By now, the whole lodge had awakened and Frijan had lit a candle with an ember from the fire.
'What is it? Intruders?' she whispered, looking out the window toward the riverbank.
'My father…' Cheyne began.
'I will go with you,' said Claria, rising and folding her bedding.
'No. Please. I don't-'
'Need help? Really?' she interrupted fiercely.
'I don't want to worry about you, too. Please. Please,' he begged her, holding her hands in his, Maceo's ring a cold reminder of their different paths. 'It may already be too late.'
'Then I will go,' another voice added. 'My nose can find them in the dark.'
Cheyne turned and saw Yob looming over him in the eerie light of the low fire. His big jaw was set and he had found a spear.
16
'Javin!' the shout echoed through the rocks from Doulos's left.
'Cheyne?' came the weak answer. 'Is that really you?'
A hail of stones rained down on the snarling, laughing canistas, and they broke off the attack and scattered through the low brush in all directions.
'We are here, Muje! By the tree,' cried Doulos.
Just then, the canistas, no longer confused, herded back together and bounded through the brush and charging Cheyne and Yob. Half the pack separated and circled warily around the ore while three others took turns rushing Cheyne. The beasts were quicker than anything Cheyne had ever fought, and seemed to enjoy dancing in and out of his dagger's range, snapping at his heels as he whirled around and around, keeping them away. The others, wide grins on their slavering jaws, paced around Yob and began to narrow their circles.
They were within seconds of closing in when Doulos began to yell an ancient Neffian war cry at the top of his lungs from the tree. The shrill sound bounced around the flinty rocks and echoed off the mountainside, causing the canistas to hesitate just long enough for the big ore to drive through their circle and reach Cheyne. As they met, Cheyne pressed himself to Yob's back, and when the canistas rejoined the attack, two of them had their throats slit before they knew it. They fell slowly, never seeming to notice they were dying, their jaws continuing to snap and snarl. The others hopped over the bodies of their packmates with no concern. Frustrated, Doulos could not aim his spear for their constant motion.
'Over to the fire, Yob,' cried Cheyne. The ore grunted his understanding and they began to move slowly, a step at a time, toward the dying fire. 'Good. Get ready.'
Cheyne took his opening when one of the beasts jostled another and fell into the firepit. The fire caught at its fur instantly, but the beast died before it felt the burning as Doulos finally got his opportunity to stab it. Cheyne leapt away from Yob, retrieved the spear with a quick jerk, and rolled the dead canista off the embers.
He took the stick on which Doulos had roasted a rabbit and stirred the embers into new life as Yob moved around behind the fire, keeping the rocks at his back. The canistas drew back, growling low. Cheyne cautiously worked the fire until it caught on the greasy stick, then he advanced on the canistas, swinging the flaming stick in the midst of them.
He tossed Yob the spear, then ran from behind the firebed, crushing the pack together, causing them to turn and bite one another in their fear and frenzy. There were still too many. At least they still couldn't get to Javin. The biggest of them broke from the fur fight and loped off a short distance to gather speed, then ran back at Cheyne. Cheyne stood his ground as the beast charged, and opened him from breastbone to belly with his dagger as the canista leapt onto him. Their leader dead, the others scattered, wailing and crying and snickering into the night.
'Good fighting, master. We don't have long,' said Yob. 'They'll come back again. Canistas are a worthy enemy. They never give up.'
'Neither do I, Yob. We'll play until we win,' said Cheyne, wiping the dark, sticky blood from his dagger and hands. 'Come on.'
They found favin with Doulos crouched protectively over him, quietly weeping. Javin appeared to have lost a lot of blood from several bites, Javin was calling for his son. Cheyne bent over him, straining to hear what his foster father was saying.
