agape.
Mika glared at him, daring the driver to speak as he strode past. 'What's the matter?' he snarled. 'Haven't you ever seen anyone walking a wolf before?'
Chapter 8
FALLING INTO A DEEP SLEEP after tucking his cloak around the stricken wolf, Mika had wakened to chaos and Hornsbuck's rough hand on his shoulder.
'Wake up! Mischiefs afoot,' he said gruffly.
Mika leaped to his feet, sword in his hand, ready for anything from bandits to kobolds. But all he saw was sand.
He blinked his eyes, hoping, wondering if it were some lingering affect of the spell. But when he opened his eyes the view was the same.
The pool of water was gone, as was the lush carpet of grass. In their place was a barren hill sprinkled with a thin covering of grease bushes and rocks. The men were staring about them with wide, frightened eyes, swords drawn uselessly against an unseen enemy.
'Magic. Illusion,' Mika said. Thirst already clawed at his throat even though he had drunk his fill of the sweet water only a few short hours before.
'Oh, no,' he groaned as a thought hit him and he ran to the nearest pile of harnesses and packs and stared in dismay at the withered and empty waterskins.
'Gone. All gone,' he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, remembering that it was by his order that the men had emptied the skins and filled them with water from the illusionary pool. It was some kind of magic delaying tactic, nothing more, he told himself. Or was it the prelude to something worse? Who was putting obstacles in their path?
The sun was rising fast over the edge of the horizon and already the mules were bawling for their morning drink. The horses, while quieter, were restless and shaking their heads from side to side.
The drivers huddled together, muttering in low tones and casting black glances at Mika.
The nomads were breaking camp and saddling their horses. Their years of training and self-discipline enabled them to exhibit a calm front, but Mika knew that they were surely filled with the same feelings of fear and uncertainty.
'We must turn back to the forest,' Mika decided, drawing Hornsbuck to the far edge of the wagons. 'No matter what the Guildsman says, we cannot continue without water. Even he will be forced to agree.'
'I do agree,' said the Guildsman, popping up at Mika's back. 'But look yonder-storm clouds, coming this way fast. I warrant they will be here no later than midday. I say that we continue on. We should be able to fill our waterskins with ease, and the rain will bring on the grass. The horses and mules will feed well, and we will make good time.'
'What do you think, Hornsbuck?' asked Mika, unwilling to do the man's bidding.
'He's right,' growled Hornsbuck as he stroked his beard and squinted at the rapidly approaching front. 'Black, heavy. Full of rain, no doubt. Be hell to pay if they catch us in the open. Never get back to the forest before they hit. Lose time. Might as well stay here.'
Mika was forced to agree. Though he was anxious to have the trip over and done with, it made no sense to get caught up in a foul storm. So they saddled the horses, loaded the pack animals, and led the mules to harness, working quickly against the advance of the ominous curtain of billowing black clouds that stretched across the entire northern horizon.
The animals were nervous and allowed the humans to do as they wished. The mules showed the whites of their eyes and brayed long and loud, each outburst setting off others until the whole camp echoed with their cries. Even the wolves were affected and lifted their muzzles and howled forlornly till everyone, even the nomads, were half-crazed.
'I've never seen nuthin' like this 'afore,' cursed the one-eyed driver. 'Stupid animals.'
But Mika had his doubts and eyed the storm with apprehension, wondering if it were truly an act of nature or another apparition.
Yet the storm was real and hit them before they had traveled more than a mile. It might have been better had they remained in camp, for they were barely able to turn the wagons into a circle before the curtain of wind and rain smashed into them.
The rain was cold and slashed down on their exposed skin with the force of hail, leaving men and animals feeling bruised and sore after only a few minutes' time.
The wind tore at them, whipping at their clothes and hair and screaming through the wagons, causing the hides to billow and pop, threatening to overturn those wagons that stood broadside to the force of the wind.
'Turn those wagons!' Mika screamed, and whipping the grey horse into the wind, rode up alongside three wagons that were in danger of tipping.
The wind seized his words almost before they were spoken, plucking them from his lips and hurling them away, unheard. Only by gestures was he able to tell the drivers what to do. So set in their ways were they that it was necessary to beat one of them with the flat of his sword before he would turn the wagon, so that the back end could take the brunt of the wind.
Using his sword, Mika then split the tough cowhide that sealed both front and back, allowing the wind to whisde through unimpeded, doing no damage.
Mika was quick to notice that the Guildsman himself was directing the placement of the creaking wagon and stayed close by its side even when it was in place, its wheels chocked firmly with stones. Many of the drivers had followed Mika's lead and opened their wagons to allow the wind through. But the secret wagon still remained tightly sealed.
Nor did the driver take shelter under or inside his wagon as many of the others had done. Instead he remained huddled on his seat as though standing guard.
The wolves, fearsome predators and fierce fighters, unafraid of anything that walked or flew, drew the line at rainstorms. They did not like the water, they hated the lightning, and they were nearly driven mad by the thunder.
Each dealt with the storm in the only way it knew, by crawling under the nearest wagon, digging a shallow hole, curling into a tight ball, and burying its head beneath its thick brushy tail.
The nomads knew from past experience that they would not emerge until the storm was over. May the Great She Wolf help them if it were ever necessary to go into battle during a rainstorm!
Mika himself, along with the other nomads, patrolled the perimeters of the wagons, water streaming off their already hopelessly wet heads and shoulders.
As soon as the main front had passed overhead and the wind abated somewhat, Mika and Hornsbuck directed the hanging of waterskins. They used the cowhide flaps to funnel water from the tops of the wagons into the waterskins, which soon bulged with the precious water that would carry the caravan safely across the prairie.
The storm seemed to ease the humiliation of the previous night, and Mika was pleased to note that the men obeyed his orders with no signs of rebellion. He was determined to see that it remained that way.
He was doubly determined to find out what was concealed in the secret wagon.
Thunder boomed and crashed around them, and lightning bolts split the dark skies and pierced the prairie. The rain continued to plummet from the clouds, turning the hard ground into a slippery quagmire on which the horses could find no firm footing.
The storm continued until mid-afternoon, but after the worst of it had passed, Mika, Hornsbuck, and the Guildsman decided that there was no advantage to staying put. They could scarcely get wetter, and everyone, humans and animals alike, would feel better doing something.
Everyone except the wolves. It was hard to stir them, and Mika felt sympathy for Tam. He had proved his mettle many times over, taking on fearsome adversaries, larger and more powerful than he, without a thought for his own safety. But once the wagons creaked forward, the wolves were exposed to the full force of the rain and
