Marlies’ throat tightened with grief. “It wasn’t only horror of killing Zaarusha’s baby and Zaarusha’s wrath that I fled from. There was the pain of losing Anakisha, other riders and their dragons. Many of the mages we lost were my friends too …” She broke off. It had all been too much.
Beneath his gaze, she straightened her shoulders. “We can’t do anything about the past, just the future. I’m going to Death Valley to find Zaarusha’s lost son. I owe her that. Will you help me get to the foot of the Terramites?”
“They’re called the Terror Mites now.” Giant John grimaced. “So, that’s what you’re doing.” He hesitated.
She was asking too much. He had a family now. “Don’t worry, I’ll—”
With a flick of his hand, he cut her off. “I’ll gladly take you. Sleep in the compartment, in case we’re disturbed.” He threw her a blanket. “I’ll nap on the wagon.” Giant John turned the horses around, so they were facing the barn doors. Harnessed to the wagons, they were ready for a fast escape.
Marlies climbed inside the wagon bed, cringing. If they were caught, her secret compartment would be a death trap.
§
476, the tharuk tracker, opened the door to the barn. The big dolt had been here, the male with the beer. Yes, there were wagon tracks and fresh horse dung. He could’ve scented him a valley away even without the wagon tracks to follow. The tracker sniffed around the barn. In the corner, it found breadcrumbs and an apple core, and everywhere was that elusive scent that he couldn’t quite detect—the female. Somehow, she was masking her true scent. 476 couldn’t say how it knew, but its instincts said the female must be traveling with the big man.
The prize was within reach. Zens would be very pleased.
Hah! The man would be an easy kill. The oaf looked thicker than a headless chicken—and being big, he was bound to be slow. Saliva dribbled off 476’s tusks as it sped out of the barn, following the wagon’s tracks along the road through Spanglewood Forest.
§
Giant John’s supplies were pitifully low. All that remained was half a sack of vegetables and an empty beer barrel. He’d had to give everything else to a troop of tharuk trackers a while back, distracting them for long enough for him to ride off with Marlies. Oh, they’d questioned him about her, too. And those trackers had been coming from Death Valley. How had the news of Marlies traveled ahead of her? Giant John clicked his tongue against his teeth, encouraging the horses. His mares had done well this trip, but they were tiring.
He kept an eye on the forest, sure they were being followed. A shadow flitted through the trees, to his right, behind him. And again. Yes, it was a tracker. Might as well smoke the beggar out into the open. The next chance he had, he’d stop and invite the tracker to play.
Dread trickled down his spine. A hundred things could go wrong. Giant John mopped his brow. It was a chance he’d have to take.
§
The big oaf had stopped in a clearing and was standing on the wagon, rummaging in a sack of vegetables. Worse than a blind pig, the idiot had his back to a large tree with an overhanging branch.
The man’s scent wafted toward 476.
476 slunk behind the tree.
Even better, the dolt was whistling. Good, that would cover the sound of its claws scraping against the bark as it scaled the trunk. The tracker crawled along the branch until it was right above the oaf, who was slicing an apple with a puny-looking knife.
476’s nostrils quivered with excitement and bloodlust.
§
Giant John forced himself to slice an apple with neat methodical cuts, lifting the tiny blade between each cut to check the reflection of the branch above.
The tracker was there, waiting. He popped a slice of apple in his mouth, quickly chewing it. Shards, it would be a terrible waste to choke on a piece of apple in a fight. Another slice. The beast was crouching, ready to pounce. Giant John whistled a few more bars, then coughed loudly to let Marlies know there was danger.
Now! As the tracker leaped, Giant John turned, whipping his sword from his belt, raising it to impale the tracker on his blade.
Seeing his sudden move, the tracker twisted in midair. The blade barely sliced its arm. With a crash that shook the wagon, the tharuk landed on its feet, claws out.
An agile sod, this one.
Giant John had to keep the beast away from Marlies. Oh shards, this was the tracker with the broken tusk and black eyes. It could mind-bend. He mustn’t think about Marlies. Jumping from the wagon, he sprinted across the clearing.
Stomping and rasping followed him.
Close—too close, he was breathing in the creature’s rotty breath.
Pain sliced across Giant John’s back.
He spun, droplets of his own blood flying, cherry-red in the sun. Giant John thrust his sword at the tracker, but it lunged low, grabbing his legs, slamming him to the ground. His sword went flying. Rolling, he leaped to his feet as the brute pounced right where he’d just been.
Giant John whipped a dagger from his sleeve. The tharuk sprang into the air, and snatched Giant John’s other arm, wrenching it as it flew past him, spinning him off balance. Gods, this thing was fast, and cunning.
Giant John surged forward, aiming his dagger at
