“Hello,” I said. “We have some questions.”
“Die, human,” hissed the satyr.
“No, I am afraid that is not the answer we are looking for,” I said. “A weremage passed through these mountains, leading the humans who fled west from Northwood. What do you know of her?”
The satyr looked away. “I know nothing of what you speak.”
“Come now,” I said. “You speak the human tongue well. That tells me you are wise. Surely you have heard which way she and her friends went.”
“I know better than to speak to you.” The satyr tried to spit at me, but the gobbet fell short, landing on the ground by my feet.
“Let us start with something simpler,” I said. “What is your name?”
She glared at me and said nothing.
“I shall tell you ours, if you wish,” I said. “This is Mag. And I am Albern, of the family Telfer.”
She only scowled harder. “I know your name, human. You tricked Tiglak. You made him betray us.”
“I did no such thing,” I replied. “I spared Tiglak’s life in exchange for safe passage.”
“He had no right,” said the satyr. “The elders punished him for his cowardice.”
That made me angry. I had known Tiglak for a long time. I am afraid I cannot say we were friends, but I respected him, and I like to think he respected me.
“He was both brave and honorable,” I said. “Yet he knew I could kill him if I wished, and he hoped his elders might be more merciful. He could have fled into the mountains in shame, but he returned, courageously, and faced their judgement. It is not my fault, nor his, that they were cruel in that judgement. I ask again: what is your name?”
She tossed her head, but some of the fury in her eyes had died. I guessed that she, too, thought better of Tiglak than she was trying to lead us to believe. “Greto,” she said at last.
“Greto,” I said. “Do you see? That was not so hard.”
“Now, Greto,” said Mag. “As we have said, we require more answers. What can you tell us about the weremage?”
Greto’s eyes burned with fury. “Your ugly human words are meaningless.”
“Ah, I forgot,” I said. “A weremage is a shape-changer. A human wizard who can take other forms.”
“Pah,” said Greto. “Your wizards are nothing to us. I know nothing of any skin-shifter.”
“What of the Shades?” said Mag. “Which way did they go?”
Greto’s dumbfounded look was too perfect to be false. “The what?”
“The humans who wear blue and grey,” I said. “They are called Shades, and they passed through the mountains. Where did they go?”
A hunted look came over Greto’s face, and she dropped her gaze to the ground. “I do not know.”
“You are an awful liar,” observed Mag. She lifted her spear and placed the tip gently on Greto’s shoulder. “I thought we were past the point where you would try to deceive us.”
Another snarl broke out on Greto’s face, but she relented. “They went north through the mountains. We did not follow them past the next bend in the valley floor. But a small party of them left the others.”
“And went where?” I said.
“West, towards our home,” said Greto.
Mag and I tensed in the same instant. “Are they still there?” said Mag. “Are they there now?”
“I have been away for several days,” said Greto, sounding like nothing so much as a plaintive child. “I do not know.”
“Was there a woman with them?” said Mag. “Skin the color of a satyr horn, and black braided hair?”
Greto sneered. “All humans look like humans to—”
Faster than blinking, Mag turned the spear so that the edge of it was pressed to Greto’s throat.
“Yes!” cried Greto. “Yes, the woman went west, into our lands!”
“Why would she go there?” I asked. “I know from experience that you are not kind to trespassers.”
“Sometimes they—the Shades—they visit our elders. They speak with them, delivering messages and directions from the Lord.”
“Is that where the weremage is going?”
“I do not know.” Greto’s eyes widened as Mag pushed the spearpoint forwards, just a hair. “I do not know! I swear it! She may be!” she bleated.
Mag dropped the spearpoint to the ground. Greto relaxed for a moment.
“My apologies,” said Mag.
Greto looked confused until Mag brought the butt of the spear spinning around and slammed it into the satyr’s face. Her head crashed back against the tree with a thud and then lolled forwards.
“West,” I said.
“Yes,” said Mag.
“The western mountains are deep in satyr territory—in the very heart of their home.”
Mag shrugged. “We have already said we will march into the middle of the Shades’ forces if need be. The satyrs cannot be worse.”
“They are not more fearsome,” I said with a sigh. “But neither do they bear as much blame as the Shades for what has befallen us. I hope you will bear that in mind.”
Her expression softened. “Of course I will. And I do not think they bear any great love for our enemies. If we remove the Shades from their homeland, they may even be grateful.”
I gave a short, barking laugh. “You have much to learn about satyrs. If the weremage aims to speak with them, she will seek out their elders. Humans are forbidden from even seeing elders, on pain of death.”
“Yet it seems the Shades visit them on occasion.”
“Traditions may change,” I said with a shrug. “Yet I doubt we will be afforded the same courtesy. We should be ready for a fight.”
She grinned. “Have you ever known me to be otherwise? We should rest now and set off early tomorrow. I will take the first watch.”
She went to the edge of the camp and sat on a low, moss-covered rock there. I went to unfurl my bedroll, trepidation in my heart. Mag was a peerless warrior, but we meant to march straight into the homes of creatures who had little love for us. I feared that if things
