a purpose.

Until the acrid scent wafted past his nostrils and he sat up, rigid with sudden, gripping fear.

Wyslet!

The odor was instantly familiar, a stench every dwarf learned to recognize at an early age. This spoor was faint, but unmistakable-a mixture of urine and carrion that lay across the air, like corpses staining a battlefield. The savage predators had for the most part been driven from the surface of the Underworld, but they were known to lurk in trackless tunnels. They lived in small packs, stalking such prey as they encountered. Primarily this meant that they ate bats, fish… and unlucky dwarves.

Terror galvanized Karkald and he sprang to his feet, spear held in his hands. He was afraid not for himself, but for Darann, and he started along the path at a run, searching the air with his nose, hoping that the scent would fade, that the wyslets were far away.

Instead, his fright expanded into panic as the stench only grew stronger. His feet pounded the cavern floor as the odor grew piercing and pervasive. The truth was inescapable-not only were the wyslets between himself and his wife, but they were moving closer to her, at a speed faster than he could hope to run.

W hy did he have to be so damned stubborn? Darann shook her head and paced a few steps across the cavern floor. He was an ill-tempered fool, and she really was better off without him! What in the First Circle had ever compelled her to go to that Goddess-forsaken watch station anyway?

And in the next intake of breath she was fighting back tears, feeling the bitter moisture sting her eyes and, against her best efforts, trickle onto her cheeks! Damn her foolishness anyway-she already missed him!

Still, she decided with a snort of determination, it would do him good to spend an interval alone in the darkness. He could simmer and stew all he wanted, and in the end he would see that she was right. They had to keep going, had to believe in something at the end of their journey. To give up would be to die, and she was not yet ready to yield that fight. Her face hardened-Karkald had to trust her, to see the wisdom of her position.

And he would.

With at least that much resolution she went back to the small bundle of her knapsack, the satchel illuminated softly by coolglow, and allowed herself a few sips of cool water. She was just tucking the waterskin under the flap of leather when the stench wafted past. Immediately she stiffened, then spun to stare into the surrounding darkness.

Of course she knew the smell of a wyslet, but now that odor had a very different character than it had when she’d visited the animal cages in Axial. The thought of the rangy hunters prowling through these caves prickled at the hair on the back of her neck. She wished Karkald was here, and felt a deep pang of regret over the harsh words that had sent him away.

Clenching her teeth, Darann made a small pile of flamestone atop a nearby boulder, a rock with a flat top that rose a little higher than her head. Touching off the coolfyre, she crouched in the shadow at the base of the large block of stone and stared into the cavern that was now brightly lit.

At least four pairs of red eyes glared back at her for a moment until, with snorts of surprise, the wyslets ducked back into the darkness. But in that flashing instant she gained an impression of desperate, unfeeling hunger, and the sensation filled her with utter terror. They were soulless, those eyes, and on a visceral level she felt vulnerability reduce her to a living, breathing morsel of food.

An instinctive fury rose in opposition to that revolting fact and she groped around the cavern floor, clawing for loose stones. She pulled up a rock as big as her fist and hurled it in the direction of the nearest wyslet. The missile clattered into the darkness and she heard a startled hiss. A long, lean shape skipped through the swath of her light and vanished into another shadow. Her breaths rushing through short gasps, she snatched up another stone and then whirled at the sound of a rattle behind her.

A slinking shape flickered through the edge of her vision to disappear behind another of the rocks that rose like knobby teeth from the cavern floor. She sensed that the creatures were toying with her-and with that realization she spun back to find one of the wyslets creeping closer. The beast froze, those red eyes bright and unblinking as she deliberately raised the rock to throw.

For the first time she got a good look at one of her tormentors, and it was a sight every bit as revolting as the beast’s carrion stench. The ratlike nose was long and pointed, bristling with whiskers. The lower jaw gaped, revealing a black tongue and a ring of jagged teeth. The horrid eyes were set wide apart, far back on a head that terminated with a pair of small, upraised ears. Mangy fur covered the lean, supple body, which was at least as long as she was tall. The wyslet scooted backward with a stuttering of its four short legs, then spat a wet snarl. A naked tail slashed, whiplike, over the creature’s arched back.

The only movement was the rhythmic lashing of that tail. The red eyes were bright and hungry, never blinking, never shifting their focus from Darann’s face. She sensed that the wyslet was trembling, ready to leap out of the way if she threw the rock. For now it seemed rapt, utterly focused on her, holding her attention…

She pivoted, suddenly remembering that there were more of these things. A wyslet crouched two strides behind her, legs and body coiled to spring. Darann shouted furiously and threw the rock straight into the pointed nose. With an angry yelp the beast tumbled back, then rose to shake its head groggily.

But there were more wyslets, and now her hands were empty. Darann spun again, saw the beast that had been staring at her. It was much closer, racing like an arrow. The last thing she saw before she lifted her arm across her face was the mouth spread wide, obscenely red and bracketed by drooling fangs.

9

A Distant Storm

Purpled high horizon, yonder rising ground; tongues of fire flicker, leaden thunder pounds.

Rocky peaks bedizened, icy daunting wall; cliffs of menace llinger ’neath the roaring fall.

From the Tapestry of the Worldweaver, Atlas of Elvenkind

Ulfgang was anxious to look into the matter of the rambunctious dogs, so he and Tamarwind decided to head into the country the morning after their arrival in Argentian. The Lighten Hour found them already descending from the lofty arkwood tree to start through the twisting streets of the elven city. Before they’d taken a hundred steps they were hailed by a familiar voice and they saw Deltan Columbine hastening to join them. The poet was dressed in traveling clothes, leather tunic and breeches, with a pack slung over his shoulder. A small harp and a curved silver trumpet were strapped to his back.

“The city’s been wearing on me,” he admitted. “And, hearing you talk yesterday, I got to thinking about the hill country. Do you mind if I come along?”

Tam welcomed his friend’s company, and Deltan fell comfortably into step with the trio as they passed a pair of towers marking the place where Argentian merged into the vast, surrounding forest. A minute later they were in the thick woods, and dog and elves relished the renewed freedom of the traveler.

“It’s been years since I’ve been outside of Silvercove, at least for more than a few hours,” Deltan remarked, drawing a deep breath. “I had forgotten how refreshing the forest can be.”

“Our homeland is a wonder,” Tam noted, “but I myself am certainly glad to get away now and then.”

They swung easily along, and Tam found the faster pace strangely exhilarating after the measured march of the elven delegation. By noon they had reached the first of the pastures, broad, rolling fields where the trees had been shorn away. It was here that the inherently hilly nature of Argentian became visible, with each successive meadow rising higher in the distance. Here and there walls of piled stone crossed the heath, making oddly geometrical patterns. The nearest cows were on a hillside beyond a narrow, sparkling stream.

“But it’s not the cows we’re looking for-it’s field rabble,” declared Ulfgang sternly. Tam got the feeling that the dog was reminding himself of his task. Ulf’s luminous brown eyes lingered lovingly over the cattle, and when the small herd wandered over the horizon and out of sight he uttered an audible sigh.

“No shepherds with the herd,” Deltan observed.

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